


oceans between me and you

by silverstorms



Category: Six of Crows - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Ellen isn't allowed to read this, Fluff and Angst, High School AU, M/M, they meet in detention what NERDS, this is... no longer about detention tbh, updates are SLOW but they do HAPPEN, wylan-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2018-08-14 04:34:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7998778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverstorms/pseuds/silverstorms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Wylan and Jesper have detention together. Involves coming-of-age journeys, ridiculous amounts of flirting, and waffles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. (is it too soon to do this yet?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! This fic was originally supposed to be a oneshot, but it got so long that it's officially becoming a multichap. A large portion of it is already written, so updates shouldn't be too far apart, but I make no promises. Anyways, this is my take on the Wesper High School AU, because I had to. 
> 
> P.S. The title is from Oceans by Seafret because 1) I listened to that song probably forty times while writing this and 2) titles are hard and I'm lazy.

Wylan van Eck was beginning to hate himself. 

Or, to be more specific, he was beginning to hate the part of his brain that kept landing him in detention. 

It wasn’t even that he hated the actual detention part that much. In fact, sitting in a classroom for a few hours after school and working on his math homework was considerably better than going home. No, the problem with detention wasn’t the sitting-and-doing-homework part-- it was the other people who were in the detention with him.

“ _Again_ , rich boy?” 

Actually, make that one person in particular.

Jesper Fahey dropped into the chair across from Wylan’s with much more force than seemed necessary. His backpack, which he always wore slung over just one shoulder, for unknown reasons, slid down onto the ground with a loud thump, and his knees banged up against the bottom of a desk in a way that looked supremely painful. Jesper didn’t seem to notice, however. Maybe he was just used to it-- he was so tall and gangly, he was always banging into things.

“One of these days,” he said, continuing on despite the way Wylan immediately turned his attention back to his AP Calculus homework, “you’re going to have to explain to me how you, of all people, manage to end up in detention week after week.”

Wylan didn’t have to wonder or ask why Jesper himself was in the same detention every week. He knew, just as everyone else did, that Jesper was the most troublesome in a group full of troublemakers: Nina Zenik, who was constantly getting scolded for talking in class but somehow always managed to charm her way out of it, Inej Ghafa, who was generally an attentive student but seemed unable to resist climbing up under the gym bleachers and sneaking into the theater catwalk no matter how often she received detention for it, and Kaz Brekker, who was so brooding and ominous everyone in the whole school was fairly certain he was a drug dealer, even though none of them had actually purchased any drugs from him. The only non-troublemaker in their motley group was Matthias Helvar, who seemed to spend all of his time looking unhappy or following Nina around like an overgrown Doberman puppy.

And then there was Jesper, dark-skinned and loud-mouthed, constantly grinning, constantly flirting, constantly causing trouble: stealing people’s pencil sharpeners, playing online solitaire under the table during Chemistry class, starting fires in trash cans, attempting to steal paint from a janitor’s closet, tying a gym teacher’s shoelaces together. Seeing Jesper Fahey in detention was essentially a given at Dregs High School. It would be strange if he wasn’t there.

That didn’t make dealing with him any easier.

“Seriously, though,” said Jesper. Wylan risked a sidelong glance and saw that Jesper was tilting his chair back on two legs and grinning over at him, not looking serious in the slightest. Wylan wasn’t entirely certain he knew what serious meant. “What could you have possibly done? I know I would have heard about it if you got in a fight, and you don’t seem like the sort to perform illicit activities in closets.” He grinned at Wylan in a way that seemed to suggest that he, personally, was that sort of person, and Wylan felt his cheeks warm as he looked back down at his notebook.

“No answers?” said Jesper, his voice teasing. Wylan wished there was an available window nearby for him to throw himself out of. 

“No answers,” he said, as firmly as he could. It wasn’t very firm. At least he didn’t stutter. Jesper just shook his head in bemusement, reached into his bag, and pulled out a notebook and a couple of pens.

Half relieved and half disappointed that the conversation was over, Wylan turned his attention back to his equations. A few minutes went by, quiet save for the tapping of Jesper’s pen against the side of his desk. Wylan resisted the urge to glance over at Jesper twice before giving in and darting a quick glance in the other boy’s direction. As though he had some sort of radar for attention, Jesper looked up from his notebook and raised his eyebrows.

“Enjoying the view, pretty boy?” he said.

Eyes widening, Wylan opened his mouth, closed it, hesitated, and then mentally stabbed himself with a pencil and returned his gaze to his paper, now blushing furiously. Wylan blushed a lot. His cheeks betrayed him almost as often as his brain did.

Barely a minute later, Madame Heleen took a short break from drinking coffee and destroying student’s grade-point averages in order to make her rounds. Wylan felt the pulse in his wrist speed up, knowing perfectly well what sort of conversation lay ahead of him and dreading it. Jesper’s presence to his immediate right made everything a thousand times worse.

Madame Heleen stopped at Wylan’s desk. He pressed his pencil down onto the paper, harder than he needed to, and the lead snapped.

“Mr. van Eck,” she said. “What are you working on?”

Wylan hunched his shoulders forward and kept his eyes fixed on the paper. “Calculus.”

“I see,” she said. Her bright red fingernails tapped on the desk, uncomfortably close to Wylan’s hand: click, click, click. “Unless I’m a mistaken, your grades in Advanced Placement Calculus are nearly perfect.””

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” said Jesper. “That’s just unreasonable." 

Madame Heleen ignored him, and Wylan said nothing. After a moment or two, she went on.

“Mr. van Eck,” she said, sharper this time. “Are you aware of the reason you are in this detention?”

Wylan could practically smell Jesper’s interest. 

“I’m aware.”

“Enlighten me.”

“English homework,” mumbled Wylan, still not looking at Jesper or Madame Heleen or anything except the equations printed on the sheet in front of him.

“Correct,” said Madame Heleen . “In fact, you haven’t turned in a single English assignment during the entire month of September.”

Jesper gave a low whistle. “Damn, rich boy.”

“Mr. Fahey, do your work,” said Madame Heleen . She tapped on Wylan’s shoulder. “You are here, Mr. van Eck, to catch up on all of your English assignments, and you’ll be in detention every day for as long as it takes you to do so, so I suggest you get started.”

With that, she moved on to terrorize someone else.

Wylan yanked open his math folder so savagely he was surprised it didn’t fall apart and shoved his math homework inside. He was painfully aware that Jesper was probably watching this whole scene and laughing at him, and so he forced himself to appear slightly more calm as he yanked his long-neglected English folder from his backpack.

“You know,” said Jesper, “if someone has an A in freaking calculus, I generally assume that they’re probably smart enough to pass Junior English.”

“Please shut up,” said Wylan, wishing he could be anywhere, anywhere, anywhere but here. 

Jesper laughed. “Feisty.”

Wylan pulled out an assignment and stared down at it. He was fairly certain he was supposed to be analyzing some character from To Kill a Mockingbird, but he only knew that from listening to his teacher talk in class. The actual piece of paper was nothing but a blur, letters swimming and tangling together for the sole purpose of confusing him…

Wylan hated his brain. Hated it. 

“No, really,” said Jesper, leaning across the aisle and drumming his fingers on Wylan’s desk, so that Wylan was forced to pay attention to him. “How come you didn’t do the assignments?”

There was a number of answers Wylan could give to that question, but for once, the most honest answer seemed the easiest. “I didn’t read the book.”

“I see,” said Jesper. “But why didn’t you read the book?”

Wylan’s long-lasting and highly irrational fear rose swiftly and suddenly, paralyzing him. He shoved Jesper’s hand away, ignoring the boy’s startled expression, and snapped “Leave me alone.”

“Just trying to make conversation,” muttered Jesper, but after a minute or two, he went back to his own work. For the next forty-five minutes, Wylan stared, unseeing, at his copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, flipping a page every now and then to give the impression that he was reading.

Finally, the hands on the clock twitched over to 5:30 and he was, blessedly, free. Moving as quickly as he could, he shoved his book and all of his folders into his backpack, tugged the zipper up, and fled.

xxx 

By the time he picked up his flute from the band room and headed out to the parking lot, Wylan was feeling considerably calmer. He’d survived detention, despite Jesper’s presence. He’d avoided-- not very skillfully, but still-- unwanted questions. All in all, he felt that he’d done fairly well.

But of course, nothing was ever that simple.

Because when Wylan got to his car, there he was again: Jesper Fahey, leaning against the vehicle with a far-too-mischievous smile.

“Hey, pretty boy,” he said, by way of greeting. “Carpool?”

Wylan realized he’d stopped walking and hastily started again, moving around to the driver’s side and unlocking the door, doing his best to still his shaky fingers.

“Sure,” he said aloud, even though mentally he was screaming why is it sometimes ‘pretty boy’ and sometimes ‘rich boy’?

Jesper slid into the passenger’s seat easily, as though he climbed into the vehicles of near-strangers quite often. Maybe he did. Maybe he spent half of his life sitting in backseats with boys he called pretty.

_Shut up, Wylan. You’re not even in the backseat. Get a grip._

“You do know how to drive, right?” said Jesper. 

Wylan was pretty sure Jesper was looking at his hands, which was not unreasonable, because they were probably shaking again.

“I know how to drive,” he said. His next words seemed to come out of nowhere, although they were true. “I just really, really hate this car.”

“Why?” said Jesper, sounding surprised. “It’s pretty nice.”

Wylan opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it.

Then he shook his head, put his key in the ignition, and drove.

He was a good driver, actually, though he’d only had his license for a few months. He only ever drove the car to school, but there was something about it that calmed him, almost in the same way solving a math problem did. 

“Where to?” he said, realizing he’d just been driving away from the school. He wasn’t entirely sure where Jesper Fahey lived. He also though that _where to_ had to be one of the lamest and most awkward-sounding questions in existence. 

“Downtown,” said Jesper. “I can walk from there.” He drummed his fingers on the dashboard, on the window, and Wylan tried not to think about the way he’d shoved Jesper’s hand off of his desk back in detention and the surprised expression that had flitted across Jesper’s face.

When he glanced over at Jesper now, he was slumped against the seat, one leg tucked up against his chest and one stretched out as best it could be in the cramped space. His fingers were drumming, drumming, drumming on the glass, and he was looking straight over at Wylan.

Wylan kind of thought that maybe Jesper had been looking at him the whole time, which was not a thought that improved his driving abilities. He looked back at the road.

“You blush less when you’re driving,” said Jesper. “It’s very disappointing.” 

Wylan blushed. Jesper grinned. For once, this sequence of events did not make Wylan want to stab himself with a pencil or throw himself out a window. Jesper was right, at least somewhat: Wylan did blush less when he was driving. When he was focused on something important, a few of the stupider parts of his brain shut off and opened up room for the more reasonable ones. 

Of course, Jesper’s words were still buzzing in his mind. It was astonishing, Wylan thought, how Jesper managed to make absolutely every sentence sound flirtatious. It was even more astonishing how much time Wylan’s brain liked to spend trying to figure out what those flirtations meant. It was likely, he knew, that it was simply Jesper’s personality and had absolutely nothing to do with Wylan, but that sort of logic meant nothing to that particular brain region.

“How come you’re so quiet all the time?” said Jesper. “It’s like a tomb in here. You’re almost as bad as Inej when she’s disappointed in someone.” 

Wylan glanced in his rearview mirror and pulled into a parking space in front of the public library. Downtown was beginning to enter the afternoon rush as students headed to the coffee shop to study (if they were the straight-A type) or the record store to browse (if they were the quiet type) or to vandalize buildings and skateboard off of roofs (if they were the Jesper type.)

Without the driving to distract him, he became a flurry of nervous movement once again. He was also free to look at Jesper again, which was unfortunate, because looking at Jesper was one of the actions that generally led to embarrassing verbal stumbles and mental pencil-stabbing.

But he looked anyways, because it was hard not to.

Jesper was relaxed, stretched out comfortably in the seat, and yet his fingers were still tapping, tapping, tapping. It looked like a nervous tic. but wasn’t. It was just a Jesper tic, a too-much-energy-for-one-boy tic. 

His head was tilted to the side, and he was looking at Wylan like he was something worth looking at.

Wylan poked his bottom lip with his tongue, which actually was a nervous tick, and said “My brain is stupid. The less I talk, the fewer chances it has to make me say stupid things.” 

He’d expected Jesper to laugh, because Jesper laughed at everything. What he hadn’t expected was that it would be a short and startled laugh, more from surprise than anything else, and that Jesper would shake his head and say “Your brain seems pretty smart to me.”

Wylan looked away.

There was a long-drawn-out silence, one that felt awkward and not at all comfortable, and then Jesper’s phone buzzed. Wylan glanced over as Jesper pulled the phone from his pocket.

“Nina’s waiting,” he said. “I gotta go.” He unlocked the door and pushed it open, then flashed Wylan a smile as his feet hit the pavement, all traces of former seriousness gone. “See you later, pretty boy.”

And then he was gone. 

For several minutes, Wylan stayed where he was, parked in front of the library, his heart beating a slightly-too-fast rhythm in his chest, locked in a silent screaming match with himself. Finally, upon realizing how pathetic he was being, he pulled out of his parking space and drove to his house, the radio blasting the whole way there, trying and failing to drown out his thoughts.

xxx 

The next day was Friday, which meant no after-school band practice and no detention. The knowledge that he still had to read the entirety of To Kill a Mockingbird (somehow) and write an essay on it was a heavy weight on Wylan’s shoulders, but he was doing his best to ignore those facts. By a lucky turn of events, his father had been out at a business meeting when he’d arrived home the day before, so he’d managed to delete the school’s voicemails about his grades and detention, finish all his homework, and go to bed before his father even get home.

Well, he hadn’t really gone to bed. He’d just laid on top of the covers for a full two hours, headphones in, very, very deliberately not thinking about Jesper Fahey. Trying not to think. Trying and failing, epically failing, not to think about…

His mind really needed to learn how to shut up. 

In any event, he’d had a narrow escape the night before, but for all he knew, his father was already at the house. He came home early on Friday afternoons to get ready to play golf with one of his ridiculously wealthy clients. 

Maybe he won’t check the messages on the phone, he thought as the bell rang. Moving slowly, he gathered up his things and put them in his backpack one by one. Maybe I should just go home and own up to it. Get it over with.

He considered it for about half of a minute. Then he got in the car and drove to the record store.

Phantom Records was the sort of place that catered only to very specific sorts of people: namely, teenagers from Wylan’s school with dark blue hair who liked to talk about how much they loved real music in the tone of voice that suggested many of their classmates wouldn’t know real music if it hit them on the head with a shovel.

Wylan, though he was a frequent customer at Phantom, did not fit in very well with that particular group. In his opinion, all music was real music. If it made you feel something, whether that something was happy or sad or angry or vaguely annoyed, it was music. 

Nevertheless, he loved the record store and all of its dusty corners, and so he was more than happy to sit crossed-legged on the floor, sorting through the stacks. It was an easy way to lose himself, to forget all about the voicemails waiting on the home phone and the way his father’s face would look when he spoke about Wylan’s grades.

A hand settled down on the top of his head, and Wylan looked up just in time to see Jesper Fahey drop into the space next to him.

“Hey, pretty boy,” he said, with the kind of smile that could probably persuade people to set things on fire for no good reason. It could almost definitely persuade Wylan to set things on fire for no good reason. He could only hope that wasn’t Jesper’s intention. 

Wylan meant to say something neutral and non-ridiculous. What came out was a blurted, stumbling, “Why do you keep calling me that?”

Dangerous smile. Burning cheeks. This whole thing was starting to feel far too familiar. 

Jesper laughed. He was crouched on the floor in a way that should have made leaning forward nearly impossible-- and yet he did, in fact, lean forward, so that what little space had been left between them shrunk to an impossibly miniscule amount.

“As it just so happens,” he said, tapping the tip of his finger against Wylan’s cheekbone, “I find your face very aesthetically pleasing. Hence the nickname.”

Wylan went still. Freezing in place was one of his most common instincts, and yet there was something about it that felt strange in this situation: maybe it was the way the stillness of his limbs contrasted with the rapid beating of his heart. For the first time, the stillness didn’t make him want to stay still; it made him want to move, to do something urgent and desperate-- though what that something was, he wasn’t sure.

Before he could move-- whether towards Jesper or away from him-- the door to the record store flew open, jostling the bells hanging directly above it and announcing the presence of Nina Zenik.

“Jes, hurry up, we’re getting food,” she said, bumping her hip against the doorframe. Nina Zenik was a commanding figure in an unusual sort of way: it wasn’t that she seemed like any sort of authority figure, the way her probably-boyfriend Matthias did. It was just that there was a vibrant energy about her that made you want to be around her, made you want to be funnier and louder and brighter because of her presence.

Wylan thought maybe that was exactly how he felt about Jesper, except most of the time it made him act in the exact opposite way. 

“We’re always getting food,” said Jesper, getting to his feet. Wylan stayed where he was. Standing up would mean placing himself in their conversation, and the floor and the records felt safer than Jesper and Nina. 

“That’s because I’m always hungry,” said Nina, grinning. Her eyes caught on Wylan and her smile brightened, her eyes flickering over to Jesper’s face with a silent question in them. “You know, we can wait for you, if…”

There was an implication in the if. Wylan wasn’t sure what the implication was, but it was definitely there.

“Nah,” said Jesper. “I think I may have just given pretty boy here a heart attack. Best to let him recover.” His hand touched down on Wylan’s hair, just for a moment, and Wylan felt a shiver run through him. It shouldn’t have felt like an intimate gesture, but it did, and Wylan thought he could almost feel this moment becoming a shifting point: here, he either edged his way forward or began to back away. Wylan wasn’t worth much when it came to bravery, at least most of the time. But sometimes, like when he performed at concerts, the universe tossed him a sample packet of courage and said “Here, give this a try.” 

Dangerous smile. Jumping pulse.

“You know,” said Wylan, without missing a beat, as though this was how his conversations with Jesper normally went, “I think you’re seriously overestimating your own shock factor there.”

He stood up. He wasn’t as tall as Jesper or Nina, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t put himself on their level. 

“Bye, Nina,” he said. He didn’t say goodbye to Jesper. Instead, he raised his eyebrows a little as he brushed past him. He felt electric, triumphant, for no particular reason.

As he walked away, he heard Nina’s voice say something in a low whisper, and then Jesper’s far less subtle “Shut it, Zenik,” accompanied by Nina’s peal of laughter. 

He made sure no one could see him before letting his face break into a smile. 

xxx

Wylan’s euphoria vanished the moment he pulled into the driveway.

His father was home.

His car-- well, they were both his cars, but the one he used-- was parked in the garage. Normally, the garage door was kept closed at all times: Wylan suspected it had been left open specifically so he would be aware of his father’s presence the moment he walked in the door. Wylan’s stomach twisted in a sick, uncomfortable way. For one long, long moment, he imagined pulling out of the driveway, turning around and driving away-- to where, he wasn’t certain. Just somewhere that wasn’t here. Anywhere would be good enough for him.

Then he opened the car door and got out.

The house was quiet when he walked in, quiet enough for the soft shuffling of his feet on the pale blue carpet to sound unbearably loud. Of course, the house was almost always like this, but knowing that his father was inside it made the silence feel twice as tense.

He was just trying to decide whether or not he should risk getting a snack from the kitchen before sneaking up to his bedroom when his father spoke.

“Wylan.”

Wylan hated this more than anything: the way his own name sounded and felt so heavy when it emanated from his father’s mouth.

He turned and moved down the hallway, stopping in front of the open door of the study. His father was seated at his desk, laptop computer open, looking shiny and purposeful, corresponding perfectly with his suit and his expressionless face. He looked like the perfect example of a Corporate Salesman, except this wasn’t his company and Wylan wasn’t a task he could just pass along to one of his interns if he felt so inclined.

Not that he hadn’t tried.

“Would you care to explain the messages I’ve been receiving from your school?” He spoke without looking up, a power tactic that was supposed to make Wylan feel small and insignificant.

It worked.

Predictable. Powerless. 

“I’m… working on it,” he said, running his tongue over his lower lip, chewing the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, imagining all the places in the world he’d rather be at that moment (the record store, in the backseat of a car with Jesper Fahey, the top of a mountain, his bedroom, an island in the middle of the Atlantic ocean, detention.) 

“You’re working on it,” said his father, looking up from the screen just so Wylan could see his disgust. “Is this kindergarten, Wylan? Is it pre-school? Do you want a sticker in reward for your failure?”

Wylan closed his eyes for a moment, holding himself steady, and then opened them.

“How are you supposed to get into college,” said his father, voice flat, “if you can’t read?”

“I can read,” said Wylan. The words came out quiet and stubborn and childish, but they weren’t a lie. Wylan could read-- just not well, or quickly, or very much. He could puzzle out a few sentences given enough time, but the words liked to tangle themselves into sticky webs, trapping him. 

His father shook his head. “Go to your room,” he said. “I don’t have time for you right now.”

He knew better than to hesitate or protest. Wylan backed out of the office, pulling the door shut with a quiet click, and stood in the hallway for a moment, twisting his hands into fists. Then he went to his room. He sat at his desk and spent an hour and a half puzzling out his history assignment, and then, with great relief, he pulled out his Calculus homework and got to work. An hour passed, and then another. He finished his assignment and moved on, working ahead in his textbook, doing practice problem after practice problem until his eyes burned.

The knot in his stomach didn’t disappear, but he hadn’t been expecting it too. He crawled into bed, buried his face in the coolness of the pillow, and wondered what it felt like to look forward to the weekend instead of longing for Monday to arrive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews will (maybe even literally) make me cry with joy. And if you'd like to scream over how close we're getting to Crooked Kingdom with me, find me on Tumblr @iwillhaveyouwithoutarmor!


	2. (small talk, he drives)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'ALL. So many things I have to say, but I'll try to keep it brief!
> 
> First of all: thank you so much for reading this story, all of you, but especially the people who left such lovely reviews. Reviews are my favorite thing, and I'm so glad you're enjoying the story! Second: this story is a multichap, so no matter what, it will continue to be updated until the story is finished. Do not fear. However, it is my senior year, so I've got tons and tons of stuff to do, which means updating will probably not happen except on the weekends, and I can't gauruntee frequency. Third: this chapter is shorter than the first :/ I hope you forgive me. The next one has a lot of Things that go down, though, so I think it'll make up for it. 
> 
> Fourth: GENERAL WARNING-- this fic has some mentions of suicide. Not in present-day part of the story, but as something that happened a long time ago. I don't think it's written in a way that will be upsetting to anyone, but I just wanted to let you know. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the chapter! <3

Monday afternoon.

“I’m starting to think you’re deliberately not reading that book just so you can spend more time enjoying my company,” said Jesper, tilting his chair back on two legs. They were in their usual spots at the back of the classroom. Wylan had _To Kill a Mockingbird_ open on the desk in front of him, but apparently Jesper could tell he wasn’t actually reading it.

“Really, don’t let that stop you from reading your book,” said Jesper. “You can enjoy my company any time you want, I promise.”

Wylan ran a tired hand across his eyes. Without fully knowing why, he was exhausted. It had been a long weekend, one spent avoiding his father as much as possible, which meant going hungry until his father left the house and he could slip downstairs to get food. Driving to school this morning had been a relief, but now all he wanted to do was lie down somewhere and just stay there for hours, alone. He didn’t want to think about _To Kill a Mockingbird_ or his father or school or his grades or even, astonishingly, Jesper Fahey. 

He didn’t want to be Wylan van Eck anymore.

“Okay, seriously,” said Jesper, sitting in his chair like a normal person for once and reaching over to tap his fingers against the pages of Wylan’s book. His voice was quieter than it usually was. “What’s up with you today?”

“What do you mean?” said Wylan, trying to nudge Jesper’s hand off of his book so he could go back to pretending to read it. Jesper didn’t react to Wylan’s prodding, however, and Wylan froze in place with his fingertips pressed against Jesper’s.

“Just tell me one thing,” said Jesper, circling his fingers around Wylan’s wrist and tapping his fingertip against Wylan’s pulse. “Why are you pretending to read that book instead of actually reading it?”

The ice holding Wylan in place melted. He tugged his hand out of Jesper’s grip, and this time Jesper relented and let go. Wylan shifted in his chair, edging away from Jesper, edging away from the conversation.

“You can’t read,” said Jesper, even quieter than before.

A beat. Silence. Jumping pulse. The knot in his stomach was a snake, twisting and coiling, twining around his organs and crushing them.

He stood up.

“Wylan,” said Jesper.

In a single sweep of his arm, he shoved all of his school materials into his open backpack and yanked the zipper up, slinging the backpack onto his shoulders in the same moment.

“Mr. Van Eck,” said Madame Heleen . “Detention isn’t over yet.”

Wylan didn’t answer her. He yanked the classroom door open and stepped into the hallway without looking back, but he knew the entire classroom would be staring after him. 

He didn’t care. He couldn’t. If Jesper knew… if Jesper had figured it out, then it was only a matter of time… 

“You okay?” said a girl Wylan thought he recognized from European History class. He gave her a quick nod, a tight smile, and kept walking. He wanted to say, or even just _think_ , that he couldn’t recall a time that he’d been okay, but that was dramatic and ridiculously self-pitying, and besides, it wasn’t true. The truth was that he _did_ remember that time, but remembering just made it worse. 

xxx

When Wylan was four years old, his father gave him a puppy. 

In the years that followed, Wylan would sometimes try to convince himself that the puppy had been his mother’s idea, but logically speaking, he knew it hadn't been. His mother hadn’t come out of her bedroom in weeks at that point-- Wylan remembered this in the hazy, almost dreamlike way of long-past memories. He remembered his father coming in and out the bedroom, looking more and more distant each time. He remembered peering through the crack in the doorway as Jan van Eck brought his wife trays of food, and the way she’d turned her head away from the light creeping in through the crack in the curtains. 

_Have you forgotten about our son?_ his father had asked, but she hadn’t replied. 

Maybe the puppy had been some sort of pre-apology for the inevitability of his mother’s permanent disappearance from their lives. Wylan didn’t know. All he knew was that later that day, after his brief stint as an eavesdropper, his father had left him with the nanny for a few hours and returned with an abundance of cigars and the softest, curliest puppy imaginable. Wylan named her Lucy, and she was his favorite thing in the entire world. 

The rest of that year seemed to pass by in snapshots: the day his pale-face nanny drove him downtown to the playground and didn’t bring him home until it was nearly dark, the unfamiliar relatives who flocked to the house over the next few days, the way everyone had wanted to hug him and play with him and he’d only wanted to play with the dog. Even his mother’s funeral, which probably should have been a defining moment in his young existence, was a haze. He didn’t remember crying, or being confused when people told him his mother was gone. It seemed to him that she’d always been gone.

Ater that, the memories grew more distinct, went up in quality. He remembered chasing Lucy around the front yard, remembered his first day of school and singing _You Are My Sunshine_ in music class with a bunch of other five-year-old kids. For three or so days, kindergarten seemed like paradise: both his art and music teachers smiled at him often, as though he was doing something right, and when he got home from school, his father would walk him and Lucy to the park and his father would ask him about all of the art projects they were working on.

Then came the alphabet.

Letters on a whiteboard, cardboard cutouts hung around the classroom, the same tuneless song repeated over and over again. It didn’t seem hard at first. But then the other kids learned to write their names, learned animals and colors and musical instruments, and Wylan was left staring in hopeless confusion.

 _Everyone learns at their own pace_ , his teacher told his father at parent-teacher conferences. _Try reading with him at home. Wylan’s a smart boy. He’ll be fine._

His father read with him at home, but it became increasingly clear that Wylan wasn’t fine. At night, after Wylan and his father sat together, trying to get Wylan’s brain to work, his father would look at him and shake his head. 

_They all say you’re smart_ , he would say. _You should be. You’re my son. You’ll figure it out._ Then he would go outside to smoke cigars, and Wylan would lie on his bed with Lucy, face hidden in her curly fur, trying to hide from all of the bad feelings. 

He didn’t figure it out, and by the end of the year, his teacher started hinting that waiting another year to move into first grade might be of help to him. Wylan’s father pulled him out of public school and sent him to a “private children’s academy” he described with words Wylan didn’t understand at the time, like “exclusive” and “rigorous.” 

In Wylan’s mind, this was the most prevalent time period in his childhood. The hazy time period before kindergarten, with its strange mix of tragedy and happiness, never really seemed fully real to him. But the years following kindergarten, as Wylan grew more and more frustrated and his father grew more and more determined to _fix this_ , were concrete. 

Private school. An “alternative learning” charter school. Tutors. Homeschooling. Another private school. More tutors. A childhood learning disability specialist. And always, the same results: Wylan couldn’t read, and he couldn’t learn how to read. 

The teachers and specialist called it "dyslexia." His father called it "the laziness of teachers" or "the failing education system"-- at least, at first. But then time went, and he began to call it other things: _deliberate failure. Unnecessary drama._ He began to smoke his cigars when Wylan was in the car with him, began to watch Wylan sharply as he sat with his tutor after school every day.

Then he fired the tutor.

 _It’s all nonsense_ , he’d said, staring Wylan down. _You don’t need them. If you want to learn to read, you’ll read._

 _I do want it_ , he’d told his father, almost pleading.

The only reply had been: _Want it harder._

Then came the long nights, hours of Wylan rubbing his eyes red, trying to read his worksheets and then covering them in doodles instead. When he started to cry, shoulders shaking with silent sobs, Lucy would come over and rest her head on his knee, staring up at him with sympathetic eyes. 

And then came the afternoon he arrived home from school and Lucy wasn’t waiting for him when he opened the door. He’d spent a solid fifteen minutes wandering around the house, looking for her, before he realized that she wasn’t there.

When he’d knocked on the door of his father’s study, the older Van Eck hadn’t even looked up to speak to him. 

You can see her again when you can read this to me, out loud, he’d said, sliding a copy of _Oliver Twist_ across the table. 

He never saw Lucy again. 

xxx

The three days after that detention passed by in a blur, the stream of never-ending days blending into each other. Wylan went to detention every day, sitting as far away from Jesper as possible, and managed to find enough Youtube videos about _To Kill a Mockingbird_ to scrape by in English class-- though he had no idea what he was supposed to do about the essay. 

Every once in a while, he’d get the feeling that Jesper was watching him, but he did his best to ignore it, to keep his eyes on the ground and continue moving forward whenever they were in the same hallway. He didn’t know how Jesper had figured him out so quickly, or whether his reaction had been one of pity or amusement, but it almost didn’t matter. He and Jesper weren’t friends, after all. It wouldn’t be weird if they never spoke again-- which was exactly what Wylan was counting on. In fact, he was pretty much hoping he wouldn’t have to speak to anyone else in the entire school until graduation. Clearly, having conversations was going to get him absolutely nowhere. 

xxx

Thursday morning, Wylan arrived at the school heavy with the knowledge that he was expected to attend a business dinner with his father the very next night. The thought of spending a full three hours in the company of his father and one of his business associates, eating fancy pasta dishes and talking about golf stats, was enough to make him want to lie down on the floor and never get up.

After a minute of wrestling with the absurdly sticky lock on his locker, he was finally able to yank it open. His fingers had just brushed against his Chemistry folder when he realized there was something in his locker: a square plastic case on top of his stack of textbooks.

He picked it up and squinted at it, feeling a twist of anxiety at the sight of the words on the cover. But to his surprise, the first sentence was familiar enough to be easy, and the second sentence only took a couple minutes to puzzle out. 

_To Kill a Mockingbird, by Harper Lee_ , it read. _The unabridged audiobook_.

Examining his locker, Wylan found that someone had stuck a yellow Post-it note on the inside of the door. There were no words written on it, just a curved line and two small dots, a frowny face, scrawled in Sharpie. 

Wylan wasn’t sure, but he thought that maybe this was what a wordless apology looked like. 

xxx

Friday night found Wylan standing in front of his bathroom mirror, tugging anxiously at his tie. He’d taught himself to tie a tie properly using Youtube when he was ten years old (learning things off of Youtube was one of his specialties) but he still never felt like the stupid thing looked exactly the way it was supposed to. He struggled with it for five minutes, then gave up, grabbed his keys, and headed downtown.

He had an entire half hour to kill before his father or the business associate would show up, but he knew better than to be late-- or, for that matter, on time. Earliness was expected, and so he sat down on the steps of the restaurant and pulled out his phone to scan the menu. His stomach twisted unpleasantly as he bent over the screen, trying to make the tangled letters transform into order-able dishes.

Friday night meant all of the high school students with actual social lives were out playing guitar on the beach or eating frozen yogurt or chasing after each other on bicycles, and so Wylan was not entirely surprised when he spotted a familiar figure moving towards him, down the sidewalk, on a skateboard. If he was being entirely honest, he’d kind of been hoping the familiar figure would turn up. 

Jesper Fahey came to a stop, one foot on the ground and one balanced on the bright-orange skateboard, as though there was a chance he’d take off at any given moment. His eyes moved over Wylan, taking in the sight of the fancy clothes. 

“Damn, pretty boy,” he said. “You clean up nice.”

These were typical Jesper words, in a typical Jesper voice, light and easy, and yet Wylan thought there was a touch of hesitance in his expression. They hadn’t spoken since Jesper had said You can’t read back in detention-- intentionally, on Wylan’s part, though he didn’t know about Jesper’s take on things. There was still a coil of fear in Wylan’s chest, a painful knot of anxiety and embarrassment from Jesper knowing his secret, and yet.... 

He thought of the _To Kill a Mockingbird_ audiobook in his CD player at home and, after a moment of hesitation, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled yellow Post-it note, lifting it so that Jesper could see the frowny face. An apology, of sorts.

Jesper smiled, and Wylan shifted a little to the side-- not an invitation, exactly, but close enough. After flipping the skateboard up into his hand in one practiced move, Jesper dropped down onto the step next to Wylan. They weren’t close enough to touch, but Wylan felt a little bit like he was leaning on Jesper, like his presence was making him feel less unsteady. 

“What’s the occasion?” Jesper said, leaning back on his hands and tilting his head up towards the evening sky.

“Business dinner with my father.” Just saying the words made Wylan grimace. He distracted himself by looking Jesper, the curve of his shoulders and the tilt of his head. Wylan had never been able to look at boys like this before. In a strange way, he’d always felt more comfortable with girls than boys, for that very reason. There was no risk there. But if Wylan looked at a boy for too long, and that boy noticed, and guessed, or figured it out… Wylan would be done for.

But Jesper… Jesper didn’t care who stared at him. Jesper had gone to Pride last year and posted the pictures on Instagram. Despite the dangerous smiles, despite the way he sort of scared the hell out of Wylan, he was safe.

Jesper glanced over at him, and Wylan looked back down at his phone. Trepidation and nervousness and uncertainty were all tangled within him. He wanted to say he was sorry for ignoring Jesper, for reacting so dramatically, but the words stuck in his throat: somehow, apologizing would also mean admitting that Jesper was right about what he’d said, and it wasn’t something Wylan liked to admit. Years and years of his father’s disappointment and anger and scorn had taught him that it’s best to be quiet. He’d cried about Lucy for weeks. He knew just how stupid it was to show people pieces of himself. 

Yet when Jesper moved closer, his shoulder pressing into Wylan’s, and said “What are you looking at?” with his voice low in Wylan’s ear, all he could really think about was how much he’d like to kiss Jesper Fahey’s absurdly good-looking face.

“Restaurant menu,” he said, tilting the phone so Jesper could see and hoping his voice came across as normal and even. 

“I see,” said Jesper, taking the phone and scrolling through the menu for a moment. “I’d definitely go with the shrimp ravioli if I were you. Or chicken parmesan. You might as well order something fancy if you have to put up with whatever it is boring adults talk about.”

“Golf, mostly,” said Wylan. “At least for the first half. And then--” His words died off as he realized Jesper had just given him an out. Now that he knew a few items off of the menu, he wouldn’t have to spend ten minutes struggling to read it while his father radiated anger. He looked over at Jesper, feeling almost dizzy with gratitude.

“What?” said Jesper, noticing the stare.

Wylan shook his head. “Nothing.”

Jesper raised his eyebrows, but let it slide. “You play golf?”

“No, thank god,” said Wylan. “Give me cross country or give me death.”

Jesper laughed, and the flickering candle flame in Wylan’s chest brightened.

“Jesper!” a voice shouted. They both turned to see a small group standing at the end of the street, waving. Wylan couldn’t completely tell from the distance, but he thought Inej might be wearing roller skates and holding Kaz’s hand. 

“I’m being summoned,” said Jesper. He stood up and dropped his skateboard back onto the sidewalk. “See you in detention.” He flashed a grin, and the warmth of it was enough to dissolve the rest of Wylan’s panic and discomfort-- it seemed that the way he’d snapped at Jesper had been forgiven, or at least forgotten. 

“Or not,” said Wylan. “I happen to be five chapters through _To Kill a Mockingbird_.”

“Is that so?” said Jesper, with a look Wylan thought was meant to be innocent. 

“On a completely unrelated note,” said Wylan, “I’m pretty sure breaking into other people’s lockers is against school policy."

“Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that,” said Jesper. “But if you do ever need to break into someone’s locker, Inej and Kaz have got you covered.”

“Thanks for the tip,” said Wylan, fighting back a smile.

“See you, rich boy.”

“See you, pretty boy.”

Jesper looked surprised and delighted by this turn of events. “Wylan van Eck,” he said. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirting with me.”

“I guess it’s a good thing you know better, then,” said Wylan, feeling dizzy and dangerous and not wholly himself. 

“This conversation isn’t over,” said Jesper, stepping onto his skateboard and pointing at Wylan, “and I am going to hold you to that.”

“Hold me to whatever you like,” said Wylan, grinning when Jesper’s mouth dropped open. He leaned back against the steps, watching as Jesper joined his friends, and waited for his father to arrive. 

When his father did show up, tie perfectly knotted, they headed into the restaurant together, the picture of a businessman and his son. They took a seat at a table covered in a piece of fabric that looked like it belonged in the home of Queen Elizabeth, and Wylan scanned the menu for only half a moment before announcing that he was going to have the shrimp ravioli.

He didn’t bother looking at the expression on his father’s face. For once, he didn’t care what he would see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FIN. 
> 
> Reviews are almost better than Oreo milkshakes, and, like Oreo milkshakes, will make me very happy. 
> 
> Questions, concerns, comments, and incoherent screaming about Wylan angst can all be directed to @iwillhaveyouwithoutarmor on Tumblr.


	3. (i like me better when i'm with you)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh. my. god. 
> 
> This chapter is SO overdue and I am very sorry. In my defense, things have been crazy. Like... Crooked Kingdom came out! I MET LEIGH BARUGO! School has been crazy! Everything has been a mess. But I'm back, with a chapter that hasn't been proofread and is sort of a mess but is also my fave. 
> 
> enjoy <3

“Wylan!”

Nina Zenik’s voice, too loud for the library, rang in Wylan’s ears even with his headphones in. He tugged them out just in time to hear Nina receive a scolding from the school librarian.

“Sorry!” said Nina, waving in a way that was both impatient and apologetic. She gestured at Wylan once again, and after a moment he got up and moved towards their table.

“Wylan, Jesper says you’re some kind of crazy math genius,” said Nina. “Please, for the love of all that is holy, help me understand what the hell this is supposed to be.” She waved a trigonometry assignment in the air for emphasis. “We’ll trade you. Inej will proofread one of your essays or something. Or I can help you with chem. But please, help me out here.”

“Oh,” said Wylan, a little taken aback. Still, there was no reason to refuse. “Sure. Let me just grab my stuff.” He headed over to his previous spot, picked up his backpack, and returned to the table Nina, Inej, and Kaz were occupying. 

Inej smiled at him. “Thanks for the help. We could really use it.”

“Technically, your weirdo boyfriend could teach it to us,” said Nina, nodding at Kaz, “but he’s the world’s least helpful person, so  _ that’s  _ not going to happen.”

Kaz didn’t look up from his French textbook. “Not if there’s nothing in it for me, Zenik.”

“Excuse them both, please,” said Inej, placing one hand on Kaz’s shoulder and looking at Wylan.  He was a little distracted by Nina’s casual use of the word  _ boyfriend  _ in reference to Inej and Kaz.

“You know,” he said, “half the school is betting on whether or not you two are together.”

Kaz glanced up, looking interested for the first time. “We know,” he said. “I’m running the bets.”

“Through me, you mean,” said Jesper, sliding into the seat on Wylan’s right. “I better make some money off of your big reveal, Brekker.” He nudged Wylan with his elbow. “I can’t believe you weren’t in detention today, traitor.”

“I finished the book,” said Wylan, “so now I’m free, except for the essay.”

“Is that so?” said Jesper. “That was fast.”

“I spent the weekend listening to it,” said Wylan. “Audiobooks, who knew, right?”

Jesper’s smile was brighter than a thousand-watt lightbulb. “So who dragged you into this mess, anyways?” He nodded at his friends.

“Me,” said Nina. “Now stop distracting him. I need your supergenius boyfriend to explain to me how triangles work.” 

Wylan coughed and shifted towards her, doing his best to go into math-teacher mode and ignore the way his cheeks were, once again, turning pink. It didn’t take long for him to explain her trigonometry problems and answer her questions, doing his best to keep things as simple as possible when he saw how she was struggling with it. 

“You’re a good teacher,” said Inej, when he was finished.

Wylan shrugged, embarrassed. “I’ve spent a lot of time with tutors. I learned it from them.” A moment too late, he  realized what he’d said.

“What for?” said Nina.

“Don’t be nosy,” said Inej, nudging her. 

“Sorry,” said Nina. “Bad habit. Forget I asked.” She said it easily, as though it was nothing, but something about the conversation made Wylan go still. There was an ease among these people, a kinship, that made Wylan want to be a part of their group, or a group like theirs. They called each other out, but not in a cruel way, and reacted easily to the criticism of their friends. Something about it made Wylan abruptly aware of his own sensitivity. Jesper’s reaction to learning he couldn’t read had been to help him, nothing else. Moreover, he’d seemed surprised by Wylan’s embarrassment about the whole thing. 

It had always been an enormous roadblock, a heavy weight. But maybe it wasn’t. Or, at the very least, maybe it didn’t have to be. 

“Dyslexia,” he said, after a twenty-second pause. He tore a strip off of his worksheet, wrapped it around his finger, and then looked up. “My tutors were supposed to teach me how to read.” He shrugged, as though it was no big deal, and maybe it wasn’t. “It didn’t really work, but they were still great.”

“That’s cool,” said Nina. “You should be a math tutor. God knows I could use one.”

Inej tilted her head to the side. “How do you make it through history and science, though, when there’s so much reading? If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

Wylan found that he didn’t. There was something about Inej that made her questions seem purely curious, not nosy or intrusive. 

“Youtube, mostly,” he said. “And in class I draw my notes instead of writing them down. I get by.”

“What about essays?” said Inej. Wylan noted, with some interest, that she and Kaz were almost, but not quite, holding hands, their fingertips just barely brushing together. Equally interesting was the faintest touch of color on Kaz’s cheek. He seemed preoccupied with his laptop, but maybe he wasn’t as focused as he looked. He didn’t want to be caught staring, though, so he quickly looked away. 

“I have speech-to-text software on my computer,” he explained. “It works pretty well, although it causes some grammar issues.”

“Send me your essay,” said Inej, pulling out her laptop, “and I’ll proofread it for you. It can be payment for the math explanations.”

“You don’t have to,” said Wylan, shaking his head.

Jesper nudged him in the side. “Let her. Life is more fun when you don’t have detention every single day.”

“That seems sort of hypocritical coming from you,” said Wylan, turning to look at him.

“Nah,” said Jesper. “I could get out of it any time I want. I just stay for the company.” He tapped a finger against Wylan’s wrist, and Wylan wondered if he’d ever stop blushing at Jesper’s half-flirtations and casual touches. 

“Stop flirting in my line of sight, Fahey,” said Matthias Helvar, appearing at the table with a stack of textbooks. “I can’t take it today.” 

“Remind me why we keep this one around again?” said Jesper, looking pointedly at Nina.

“He carries my bags for me,” she said cheerfully. “Inej, we’d better get going if you want to make it to rock climbing tonight.”

Inej nodded and began collecting her things. Kaz, leaning slightly on his cane, got to his feet. Nina looked at Wylan. “Do you need a ride?”

He shook his head. “I’m okay.”

“Are you sure? It’s no trouble,” said Inej. “We’ve got the time.”

“He has a car,” said Jesper, standing up as well. 

“It’s not really mine,” said Wylan, feeling slightly embarrassed.

“Bribery,” said Kaz, without looking at Wylan. “His father still wants him to learn how to read.”  

There was a silence, the sort of silence that occurs when people are waiting for someone’ else’s reaction.

“You know,” said Wylan, slinging his backpack onto his shoulders, “your girlfriend is a lot cooler than you are, Brekker.” He was aiming for a lighthearted tone and wasn’t entirely sure if he achieved it. 

“ _ Kaz Brekker _ ,” said Nina, jabbing Kaz’s side with her elbow. “Honestly, boy, learn some manners. Wylan, I’m walking you out.”

She announced this as though it simply wasn’t open to discussion, and so Wylan put up no resistance as Nina hooked her arm through his and tugged him out of the library and down the hallway, the others trailing a good distance behind.

“The thing you have to understand about Kaz,” she said as they walked, “is that he’s an asshole.”

Wylan gave a surprised laugh.

“Really,” said Nina. “Without Inej around to rein him in he’d be totally insufferable, so don’t feel like you have to like him or anything.”

“It’s fine,” said Wylan. “I mean, he was right. But… how did he know?”

Nina rolled her eyes. “Oh, he’s a genius. It’s part of what makes him so insufferable. He excels knowing things and being creepy about it.” She pushed through another door and headed out into the parking lot. “Anyways, you don’t have to like him. But I hope you like the rest of us.” She flashed him a smile. “Jesper likes _ you _ , you know.”

Wylan shook his head, feeling his cheeks grow warm. “Jesper just likes the sound of his own voice.”

“ _ True _ ,” said Nina. “But he also likes you. Trust me on this one.” Her dimples appeared. “You like him too, right? Don’t answer that. I already know.” She caught sight of the slightly panicked look on Wylan’s face and her expression changed. “Shit, am I freaking you out? Are you worried I’m going to out you? I won’t, I promise. I’m actually really good at keeping secrets.”

“I’m not sure that’s actually a secret,” said Wylan. It was one of the more unusual things about him, that he’d always been so afraid people would figure out  that he was dyslexic and barely even considered the possibility of anyone realizing he was gay. Maybe it was just that he’d simply thought no one would care enough to ask or wonder whether he liked boys or girls. 

“So you’re out?” said Nina. 

Wylan shook his head. “No. I mean, I’ve never really had anyone to come out  _ to.  _ Technically I think you’re the first person I’ve ever had this conversation with.”

“Okay, it’s official,” said Nina, as the others joined them. “I’m adopting Wylan.”

“Nina’s a total mom friend, just so you know,” said Jesper. No one looked surprised by Nina’s declaration of adoption, so maybe it was a common occurrence-- yet still, it made something in Wylan’s chest ache a little. Nina’s affection was effortless, easy, accepting, and therefore completely unfamiliar to him. 

“Who’s driving?” said Matthias. 

Nina reached up to run one hand through his hair and said “You can.”

“Thank god,” said Jesper. “Let’s try to keep everyone alive  _ at least  _ until graduation.”

“I resent that,” said Nina, pointing at him. “I’m an excellent driver.”

“Sure you are,” said Jesper, rolling his eyes. 

“Are you coming with us?” said Inej, directing the question at Jesper.

“Nah. I’m not in the mood for rock climbing. Next time.”

“Be home in time for Game of Thrones tonight,” said Inej. Kaz opened his mouth to say something, but she narrowed her eyes at him. “And don't tell me you already know what happens.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Arya--”

“Hush!” she said, covering her ears. “I don’t know  _ how  _ you always know what’s going to happen before it does, but I don’t want to hear it. No spoilers.”

Jesper pointed a threatening finger at Kaz. “Keep your creepy, grim predictions away from Arya.”

“She’s his favorite,” Inej said to Wylan, who had not the faintest idea where the conversation had gone. 

“Total badass,” said Jesper, nodding. 

“Come on,” said Nina, rolling her eyes. “They’ll go on about this for hours. I’m cutting it off.” She grabbed Inej’s arm and started to drag her away, waving over her shoulder as she did so. After a moment or two, Kaz and Matthias followed their girls, and Jesper and Wylan were left alone on the pavement. 

Wylan waited for a moment, then spoke. “Weird question."

“I’m excited. Shoot," said Jesper, looking away from his Matthias's retreating car.

“You and Inej live in the same house?” 

“Ah, right,” said Jesper. Wylan noticed that he was bouncing up and down on his feet as he spoke, and he couldn’t help but find it endearing. “We’re foster siblings. We’ve been in the same house for… three years now, I think?”

Wylan nodded, not quite sure how to respond. He’d known, vaguely, that Inej and Kaz were in foster care, but he hadn’t realized Jesper was, too. It explained a lot of things about their group, though: the sibling-like closeness between them all, Nina’s protectiveness, Inej and Jesper’s way of balancing each other out.

“What about Kaz?” he asked eventually.

“We were in a home together when we were younger,” said Jesper, his expression tightening a little at the memory. “Me and him, I mean, not Inej. I introduced them when Inej and I were placed together.” He shook his head ruefully. “I had the biggest crush on Kaz back then.”

Wylan blinked, slightly thrown by the apparent ease with which Jesper admitted this. Yet Jesper was no longer looking at Wylan; he was looking up and away, his gaze deliberately focused on the sky, and something about that look made Wylan think it wasn’t as easy to admit as Jesper was pretending. 

“Does Kaz know?” he asked, moving closer without fully realizing it.

“If he he did, he kept quiet about it,” said Jesper. “But Inej knew.”

“Past tense,” Wylan noted, his voice quiet.

Jesper looked at him again, and something in his gaze shifted and softened. “Past tense,” he said. “What about you, pretty boy?”

“What about me?”

“You’ve got to have a few secrets hidden under all those curls.”

Wylan found that it was hard for him to speak while looking Jesper in the eyes and looked up instead. The sky was heavy with gray clouds, and a light rain was starting to fall, sprinkling said curls with light droplets of water.

“Maybe I don’t have any relevant secrets,” he said. “I mean, you already know my biggest one, really.”

“The dyslexia thing?”

He nodded.

“Why was that a secret, though?” said Jesper. “It’s not really a big deal.”

Wylan snorted. “Try telling that to my father.”

“Ahh,” said Jesper. “So this is a shitty parent-child thing, then. I can relate.”

“Your parents are shitty?”

“No, not at all,” said Jesper, shaking his head. “I mostly meant that I was a shitty kid. I caused a lot of problems after my mom died. Eventually they stuck me in a group home because they thought I was less likely to wind up in juvie that way.” 

“Oh,” said Wylan, frowning.

Jesper waved an impatient hand. “Whatever. What’s the deal with your dad?”

The rain started to come down harder. Wylan gestured at his car, and Jesper nodded in agreement. Together, they began to make their way towards the car, Wylan trying to figure out how to phrase his answer.

In the end, he settled on the simplest version of the truth. “Basically, he hates me and I hate him.” He pulled his car keys out of his pocket and unlocked the doors, pausing to toss his backpack into the backseat. By the time he got into the car, Jesper was already sitting in the passenger seat, hair wet from the rain, frowning at him.

“What?” said Wylan.

“Why do you think your father hates you?”

He was sitting with his unreasonably long legs jammed awkwardly into the cramped space, body twisted around so that  he could face Wylan, dark hair scattered with glimmering droplets of water. In the dim light of the cloudy afternoon, all his usual teasing was wiped away, and he was just Jesper, curious eyes fixed on Wylan’s face. Wylan had had a crush on him for months, and yet he’d never once imagined anything could come of it-- nor had he ever thought that he’d find Jesper to be both exactly how he’d imagined him and so different, all at once. 

“This may come as a shock to you,” said Wylan, his voice so much quieter and calmer than the pulse beating in his throat, “but most corporate businessmen aren’t super enthusiastic about their gay, dyslexic sons.” 

Jesper’s smile was slow and delighted. “Really? I can’t imagine such a thing. Personally, I’m  _ very  _  fond of gay, dyslexic sons of corporate businessmen.”

Wylan met his gaze and held it. His heartbeat was fast, but steady.

“Good to know,” he said.  “I’ll keep that in mind.” And then, before Jesper had time to formulate a response, Wylan leaned forward, caught him by the back of his neck, and kissed him.

Jesper inhaled sharply against Wylan’s lips, his surprise evident, and for one terrifying half of a second, Wylan thought that maybe he’d got it all wrong and Jesper didn’t want to be kissing him after all. Then Jesper grasped the front of Wylan’s shirt and tugged, pulling him closer, and the rest of the world dissolved, melting away until there was nothing left but racing pulses and lips on lips and Jesper reaching up so he could tangle his fingers in Wylan’s hair. 

When Wylan finally pulled away just a little so he could breathe, Jesper’s head dropped against the headrest, and he laughed breathlessly. 

“Wylan van Eck,” he said, shaking his head in bafflement. “You are full of surprises.”

Wylan thought that he could almost still feel Jesper’s teeth on his lower lip, Jesper’s fingers tugging at his hair. 

“That was a surprise?” he said, both taken aback and pleased. “You’re the one who’s been flirting with me for months now.” He felt his cheeks grow warm. “Assuming you  _ were  _ flirting.”

Jesper grinned. “Well, yeah. But I thought you were way too deep in the closet to ever make a move. And I wasn’t going to do  anything about it if I wasn’t sure whether you liked me or not.”

“I could never tell if you were being serious,” Wylan admitted, looking down. “I mean, I thought it was just a joke to you. But I liked you the whole time.”

“Well, thank god,” said Jesper, and Wylan looked up to see him smiling. “This was going to get really awkward if you didn’t.”

This time, it was Jesper who leaned in, lifting Wylan’s chin with one finger so their mouths could meet, letting his hands settle on Wylan’s shoulders so he could hook his thumbs through the collar of his shirt. They kissed until the rest of the after-school-activity students started to trickle out of the building, and then they drove downtown in the rain, Wylan doing his best to fight the urge to look over at Jesper every five seconds, acutely aware of the fact that Jesper was watching from the passenger seat.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you to your house?” asked Wylan once he was parked, frowning out at the rain. 

“I like the walk,” said Jesper cheerfully.

“Even in the rain?”

“Especially in the rain,” said Jesper, raising his eyebrows.“See you in detention?”

“Maybe,” said Wylan. “Maybe I’ll skip it again.”

“And leave me all alone? It’s a little late in the game to be playing hard-to-get, pretty boy,” said Jesper. 

“Is it?” said Wylan, raising his eyebrows in return. 

“Yes,” said Jesper, leaning forward so that the space between them was almost nonexistent. “See? Got you.”

Wylan’s breath caught in his throat: it didn’t seem able to do anything else whenever Jesper was this close. Before Wylan could lean in towards him, however, Jesper slid away, opening the car door and stepping out into the rain-slicked street.

“Now  _ that’s  _ how you play hard-to-get,” he said. “See you tomorrow.”  He grinned and closed the car door before Wylan could open his mouth to respond, vanishing into the rain.

For a moment, Wylan stayed frozen in place. Then he reached out with a fumbling hand, twisted the radio dial on, and closed his eyes, dropping his head back against the headrest. Though he tried to fight it, he couldn’t quite prevent a ridiculous, embarrassingly happy smile from creeping onto his face. The music and the pounding of the rain surrounded him, but even the rhythm of the two couldn’t calm him.

_ Jesper. He’d just kissed Jesper.  _

_ And Jesper had kissed him back. _

Barely a minute later, there was a light tapping sound on the car window. Wylan jumped and opened his eyes. The window was too rain-blurred for him to see who had knocked on the glass, so he pushed the car door open, expecting someone to tell him he needed to pay for parking or leave.

Jesper Fahey was standing just outside the door of his car, his thin _ Dregs High Soccer _ t-shirt soaked through with rain, rivulets of water running down his face. He was smiling a ridiculous smile and didn’t seem to care in the slightest that he was getting completely drenched by the rain.

“You know,” he said, “I’ve never really been a fan of playing hard-to-get.” 

It was a good twenty minutes before Wylan made it to his house, dripping with rainwater and impossibly, immeasurably happy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SEE WASN'T THAT WORTH THE WAIT 
> 
> For only 30-60 seconds of your time, you can make one stressed-out student overflow with joy by leaving a review! I mean, you don't have to. But they are nice! 
> 
> hmu @iwillhaveyouwithourarmor on Tumblr if you want to talk about CK/this fic/all things Six of Crows!


	4. (this is the moment I surrender)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rollerskates back into my own fic after a 7 month absence with starbucks and a chapter that is fluffier than cotton candy save for the few sprinkles of angst* TODAY IS SHELBY'S BIRTHDAY AND SHE'S BEEN TRYING TO GET ME TO WRITE THIS FREAKING CHAPTER FOR MONTHS AND I LOVE HER MORE THAN LIFE ITSELF SO HAVE A CHAPTER I GUESS 
> 
> really tho I am Terrible and I don't deserve your readership or your love BUT I will say this: the comments on this fic are the absolute nicest and I read them whenever I'm sad and even if you've all given up on me and this fic in despair I will always treasure our time together and I PROMISE this fic will not be abandoned until the words THE END have been typed. pinkie promise.
> 
> okay I'll shut up and let you read now. 
> 
> (p.s. if you want the next chapter to like.... not take 7 months.... leave a review or come yell at me @iwillhaveyouwithoutarmor on tumblr)

The day after what Wylan was mentally referring to as _the kiss_ (although technically there had been four-- not that he was counting) found Jesper and Wylan sitting in the English hallway, backs pressed against the line of metal lockers. Wylan wasn’t sure how Jesper had convinced Madame Heleen  to let them work in the hallway, especially because she’d hated Wylan ever since he walked out of detention, but he wasn’t about to question it. In fact, he wasn’t about to question anything, not with Jesper sitting just inches away, head bent over _The Great Gatsby_ as he read aloud.

As though sensing the path of Wylan’s thoughts, Jesper looked up from the page.

“Somehow I get the feeling that you’re not paying attention,” he said.

“Sorry,” said Wylan, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. His hands were itching to reach out, to tangle his fingers in Jesper’s-- and yet he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. _Shouldn’t._ He didn’t know what was going on between him and Jesper, what the kisses from the day before had meant. There was a whisper in his mind, ever-present and unwelcome, that told Wylan that the kissing might not have meant anything, that he was being stupid, that the fact that Jesper hadn’t touched him all day meant… something. Meant that whatever had happened the day before hadn’t been important, meaning Wylan wasn’t important, meaning…

“Wylan?”

He blinked, snapping himself out of his confused muddle of thoughts, and discovered that Jesper was frowning at him.

“Sorry,” he said again.

“Are you okay?”

Wylan wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. It wasn’t a question he was used to, nor was it one he had a good answer for. Wylan’s emotions were messy, confusing things, and usually this was fine, because they didn’t touch anyone but him. Adding Jesper to the equation changed things, complicated them.

“Yeah,” he said eventually, because what else could he say? “I’m fine.”

Jesper squinted at him. “That’s quite possibly the _least_ convincing lie I’ve ever heard.”

“I’m sorry my lying abilities aren’t up to your standards?”

“Wylan. Seriously,” said Jesper. He shifted towards Wylan,  then seemed to change his mind, and moved backwards slightly. Wylan’s throat felt tight.

“Listen,” said Jesper, looking down, away from him. “I--”

The classroom door banged open and Madame Heleen, the queen of bad timing, appeared in the doorway. “Detention is over, young men,” she said, giving Wylan what felt like a very pointed glare.

“Thanks, Madame H,” Jesper said cheerfully. Wylan reached for his backpack and shoved in his notebooks before getting to his feet. He didn't quite know where to look. Everything about this day felt strange and off-kilter and he didn't know why, but he had to get away from here, away from Jesper, away from everything. 

“I have to go get my flute,” he said. “I’ll…”

“Okay,” said Jesper, even though Wylan technically hadn’t finished his sentence. He was still sitting with his back to the row of lockers, looking up at Wylan, and something about the sight of him made Wylan’s heart hurt.

“I have to go,” he said, hating the words even as they left his mouth. He pulled his backpack onto his shoulders and turned away, ducking his head as he made his way down the hallway. He didn’t look back and he didn’t look forward. He just kept his eyes on the ground.

 

xxx

 

Sometimes Wylan thought music was the only thing that could ever fix him.

Lying on the floor of his bedroom, eyes closed, headphones in, totally alone, Wylan was more himself than he could ever be in front of another person. Music didn’t make him forget about his problems-- it did something better. It made his pieces shift into place, until he felt like maybe he was actually a worthwhile person. He let the music wash over him until his heart was beating steadily and his breathing was slow and even, and then he turned it off, took out his phone, and called Jesper.

Almost immediately, he felt the panic rising, but he closed his eyes and laid down again, trying to hold onto the calm feeling from before.

Jesper answered on the fourth ring.

“Hey," he said, and the sound of his voice almost made Wylan hang up-- but he didn't. Instead, he listened to the sound of muffled shouting in the background and said nothing until it became quieter.

“I can call you back,” he said, once it sounded like Jesper might actually be able to hear him.

“Nah, it’s okay. I’m on the roof now, it’s pretty calm up here.”

“The roof?”

“What, you’ve never been on a roof? I like being higher than everything else. I learned it from Inej. It’s a great way to hide from foster parents. And siblings." 

Wylan frowned. "Your foster parents... are they bad?"

Jesper's voice sounded a little less breezy than usual when he answered. "They're all right. They fight a lot. But they wouldn't hurt us-- I've got Inej and she's got me, so we're pretty safe as long as we're together. Not to mention Kaz, who's definitely the scariest."

"Good," said Wylan, relieved. And then, "Not Matthias?”

“Definitely not. Matthias looks scary, but he also volunteers at the animal shelter and picks Nina flowers for her birthday. Kaz is too smart for anyone’s good. It’s creepy.”

“He actually sort of scares me,” said Wylan. His heartbeat had slowed again, and a tiny fragment of his calm was returning to him. “I mean, they all scare me.”

Jesper laughed. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” He paused. “It’s like… they all just have this fight in them, I guess. They’re not afraid to be… loud. They're like you, I guess." He swallowed. 

“I’m not afraid to be loud, that’s true,” said Jesper. For a moment, there was no sound save for his quiet breathing and then he said “Wylan?”

“Yeah?"

“Are you scared of me?”

Wylan froze, one hand clutching the phone to his ear. Slowly, he forced himself to relax, to sink back into the floor and try to find the right words.

“I guess so,” he said eventually, forcing the words out. “Not scared, exactly. It’s just-- I don’t-- why did you kiss me yesterday?” He dug his teeth into his lower lip and elaborated. “I mean, why did you kiss me back?” Saying the word _kiss_ out loud felt strange. Kissing probably wasn’t something that was meant to be talked about; it was just something you _did._

Jesper was quiet for a moment, and then he said “I wanted to.” Another pause, one that made Wylan feel like all the oxygen had been sucked out of his bedroom, and then he spoke again. “I like you, Wylan. I _like_ you. A lot. But….” He made a frustrated sound. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, or freak you out. I flirted with you all the time because I thought it didn’t matter, and now I’m scared that I’ll accidentally out you and you’ll hate me and I’ll have ruined your life and it’ll be like all those shitty tragic gay movies where no one wins.”

“Oh,” said Wylan, quietly.

“Not what you were expecting me to say?”

“I didn’t even think of that, actually,” he admitted. “I thought you… I don’t know, kissed me once and decided you didn’t want to do it again, or something.”

“Technically speaking, it was three times,” said Jesper. “Maybe four. Or five. But who’s counting?”

“Me,” said Wylan.

He spoke without thinking, but maybe it was the right thing to say, because Jesper’s laughter made the knot in his chest uncurl. “Wylan. I sometimes kiss people for bad reasons, but I don’t do it multiple times in the pouring rain like some asshole in a period drama.”

“Oh.” Phones were such useful inventions, Wylan thought. For once, Jesper couldn't see him blush.

“You’re blushing, aren’t you?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Make me.”

“I’m considering hanging up on you.”

“That’s rude.”

“You’re rude.”

“I can’t deny that. And _you_ can’t deny that you are incapable of resisting my charms."

“Whatever,” said Wylan, shaking his head and forcing the smile off of his face. He needed to remember the point of this conversation, the point of all this awkwardness. Wylan had spent his whole life living in uncomfortable silence with someone, and it had only ever made things worse and worse. If he and Jesper were going to be-- if they were going to be _something_ \-- Wylan wanted it to be an honest something. 

“Can I tell you something?"he asked. "This is way easier over the phone.”

“Sure. But don’t get too attached to this phone-call-flirting. Your blushing is no good to me if I don’t get to witness it,” said Jesper. Wylan could practically see his face; he was probably doing that _thing_ with his eyebrows. “So..." 

"So..."Wylan drew in a breath. “I guess... I wanted to tell you that I don’t care if people know. About me. I mean, I’m not going to come out to the entire school and run for president of the GSA, but if people figure it out… it doesn’t matter to me."

"There's no way you could beat Nina for GSA president."

"I'm glad you're taking this baring-of-the-soul conversation seriously."

"Sorry. I told you I'm not a period-drama asshole. But I can make an effort to be less of a real-life asshole. You really aren't afraid of coming out?"

Wylan shrugged, even though Jesper couldn't see him."Not really."

"I’m not sure I’ll ever understand you, Wylan van Eck,” said Jesper, sounding half-surprised and half-impressed. “Isn’t there anyone you want to tell personally, though? I mean, Inej just kind of figured it out with me, but I didn’t tell anyone else until she knew. Baby steps, or whatever."

“I don’t…” said Wylan. The words _I don’t have anyone like that_ were on the tip of his tongue, but he held them back, because they sounded absurdly pathetic.

“I don’t really care what strangers think of me,” he said instead. “People at school. Your friends. They’re-- not the ones I’m worried about.”

On the other end, Jesper grew quiet. “This is about your father, right?”

“I don’t want it to be about him,” said Wylan, dragging a hand through his curls. “That’s not… that’s not what I was trying to say.” He dug his teeth into his lower lip, grateful that Jesper was staying quiet, giving him time to think. “I just-- I’m not going to freak out,” he managed eventually. “So if you…”

“You trying to ask me out, pretty boy?” said Jesper, his voice light and teasing. Wylan felt himself blushing again and stood up, flopping onto his bed so he could press his face into the cool fabric of his pillow.

“Maybe,” he said, the word muffled by the pillowcase.

“I have no idea what you just said, so I’m going to assume it was something along the lines of _yes, Jesper, who by the way I find very attractive, I’m definitely interested in going on a date with you and then making out in the rain and using the word 'ardently' in every other sentence for some reason_. And no, I have not seen  _Pride and Prejudice_ an upward of three times. But anyways." 

 _Date._ Wylan rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. The word sent a ridiculous surge of happiness through him.

“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?” he said into the phone.

“Make what easy?” said Jesper. “Kissing me? Please feel free to do _that_ at any time. You’re pretty good at it.”

“Any of it,” said Wylan. “The existence of Wylan van Eck. And don't think I'm not insulted by that tone of surprise." 

“That was flattery. You should feel flattered. But for the record, you can’t blame me for being surprised. You almost have a heart attack any time someone flirts with you.”

“There’s only been one person flirting with me,” said Wylan, “and anyways, that doesn’t mean I’ve never kissed anyone before.” Though it was true that up until the day before, it had been a while since he kissed anyone-- at least two years, he thought.

“Had you?”

“Girls,” said Wylan. “From music camp, mostly.” Music camp girls always liked Wylan. In most social circles, he was eclipsed by more appealing candidates for crushes, but musical girls always seemed to think it was ‘adorable’ that he played the flute and appreciate the fact that he, alone among the male campers, never suggested ‘strip poker’ as a fun campfire activity. Sometimes it was simply easier to play along, to smile and compare sheet music and kiss them back, than it was to reject their advances and be asked why.

“Me too,” said Jesper. “But I like girls, so I guess that’s different. And they weren’t from music camp.” A pause. “Why’d you do it, though, if you knew you were gay? Or was that before you figured it out?”

Wylan closed his eyes again. “I guess… back then I still thought that it was always going to be that way. I mean, I knew, but I thought that if I just pretended… it would all be fine. I thought I could just go through life pretending and I would… it would all be okay.”

Jesper was silent, his breathing soft, and then he said, very quietly “Wylan, I really fucking hate your father.”

The words, harsh as they should have sounded, were gentle. Jesper sounded sad for him, Wylan realized, and thought made him feel--  he didn’t know, exactly. All he knew was that over the course of a single conversation, Jesper had gone from being a person he could flirt with and maybe kiss to being a person he could call when he wanted someone to talk to, a person who  listened and understood, and the transition was making him feel somewhat ashamed of the way he’d thought of Jesper before. Jesper was a person, a real person, with depth and complexity Wylan had not previously spent much time looking for. He liked Jesper, liked him more than he knew how to say, but this was more than that. This was the feeling, new and anticipative, that there were a thousand things he didn’t know about Jesper-- and he wanted to learn all of them.

For a minute or two, they both stayed quiet. Jesper, unsurprisingly, was the first to break the silence.

“Hey,” he said, “do you watch Game of Thrones?”

“Never seen it,” admitted Wylan.

“That alone is a tragedy,” said Jesper, “but we’re just going to ignore that part for now. We’re watching it tonight at Nina’s house. Do you want to come? Kaz will explain the plot to you if we bribe him with Twizzlers and Inej always makes waffles. It’s a good time.”

“Waffles?”

“They’re kind of our thing. Our group.” Wylan could hear the smile returning to his voice, the serious tone from before giving way to his usual lighter one. “You should come.”

“Admit it,” said Wylan. “You just want to see me.”

“I have zero shame in admitting that,” said Jesper. “So you’ll come?”

"Are you sure you don't want to watch  _Pride and Prejudice_ and talk about how  _ardently_ you love it instead?"

“I’m taking that as a yes and hanging up before you have the chance to make fun of me any more. Inej will be over to pick you up in twenty minutes.” He hung up, but Wylan stayed where he was for a moment, phone cradled in one hand, heart beating steadily.

 

x x x

 

Exactly twenty minutes later, the harsh ring of the doorbell echoed through the house. Wylan, with his hair still wet from the quick shower he’d taken, hurried down the stairs two at a time-- and then froze at the bottom of the steps when he caught sight of his father answering the door.

“Mr. van Eck,” he heard Inej say. Her voice, though quiet, sounded entirely calm and confident, and something about it was instantly reassuring. He moved forward, joining his father just as Inej said “I’m here to pick up Wylan."

“Inej, hey,” he said. He turned to look at his father, though he couldn’t quite bring himself to meet his eyes, and said “I’m going to… my friend Nina’s house.” He didn’t know why, exactly, he was telling his father this-- he almost certainly didn’t care who Nina was or where he was going. Still, it felt strange to leave without acknowledging his presence, at least with Inej watching.

“Study group,” said Inej, looping her arm through Wylan’s in a way that felt more protective than anything else. He allowed himself to be tugged out the door and stood quietly at Inej’s side as she politely said farewell to his father, then turned and walked across the lawn with her. Once they were a good distance from the house, Inej stopped and turned to face him. She was small, but so was he, and so it was easy for them to look into each other’s eyes.

Inej let go of his arm, but only so she could grip his elbows and look him over. Wylan stayed still, feeling that he was being evaluated in some way and not really knowing how to react.

“Don’t hurt him,” she said eventually. The words were firm, her dark eyes fixed on his. They weren’t a threat, exactly, but the implication _or I’ll hurt you_ was still there. Wylan had the feeling Inej wanted to like him but wasn’t prepared to do so until she could be certain he wasn’t going to break Jesper’s heart.

Wylan didn’t think he was going to break Jesper’s heart. He didn’t think he could ever matter enough to Jesper for such a thing to be possible. But he didn’t think that was the answer Inej was looking for, so he simply nodded, and after a moment or two she released him and headed over to her car. Wylan followed, pausing for just a moment to glance back at the house.

He could just barely see his father’s silhouette in the window of the study  and was unable to shake the feeling that the senior van Eck had been watching them since the moment they stepped out of the house.

 

xxx

 

Nina’s basement was a mess.

“I’m very anti-organization,” she said, nudging a fat orange cat out of the way with her foot, “so there’s barely any room for all of us, but I’m the only one with TV, so we make it work.”

Wylan leaned down and scooped up the cat, cradling it against his chest. From what he’d seen so far, there were two other cats in the house, but there could easily be a fourth hiding among the stacks of books, scattered pillows, and potted plants that covered Nina’s floor. The place was in total chaos, but Wylan found that he liked it.

Matthias was crouched in front of TV, messing around with HBOGO, while Kaz was seated on the couch, writing in a black notebook, his bad leg stretched out in front of him. He looked up when he saw Wylan and waved him over. Wylan approached cautiously, settling onto the couch cushions with the cat in his lap.

As it turned out, however, Kaz had little interest in actually talking to Wylan: he just wanted to give him a detailed explanation of _Game of Thrones,_ complete with a family tree he’d sketched in the black notebook. Wylan did his best to ask intelligent questions, though the truth was that the conversation left him feeling almost more confused than he’d been before it started.

He was saved from trying to keep Starks and Snows and Tyrions straight by the appearance of Jesper and Inej, who entered the room carrying plates of waffles. Jesper flashed Wylan a smile and dropped into the spot next to him, offering up a plate.

“I’m willing to bet you ten dollars that these are the best waffles you’ve ever had,” he said, as Wylan accepted the plate cautiously. 

“Don’t take that bet!” said Nina. “We’re trying to cure this boy’s gambling problem.”

“Also,” said Inej, perching on the arm of Nina’s chair, “you’d lose. My waffles _are_ the best.”

Wylan raised his eyebrows. “You have a gambling problem?”

“Oh, hush,” said Jesper, waving an impatient hand. “They’re all liars. Come on, let’s watch Arya behead some people.”

Surprisingly, the whole group settled down once the episode began. Within minutes, Wylan was completely and totally lost, so he concentrated on eating his waffles, which, as it turned out, actually were the best waffles he’d ever eaten.

It only took a few minutes for all the members of the little group to settle into place. Inej sat curled up, cat-like, next to Kaz, who reached over to twine his fingers through hers. There was something oddly touching about it, the careful way he touched her even though they’d been dating for months. Nina and Matthias, meanwhile, were sitting in a nearby loveseat. There wasn’t quite enough room for them, so Nina was practically in Matthias’s lap, but neither of them seemed to mind.

And then there was Jesper, sitting next to him, muttering swear words under his breath whenever one of his favorite characters appeared to be in danger. He was completely fixated on the show, and yet he was always in some sort of motion, fidgeting or shifting in his seat-- but it wasn’t because he didn’t care or wasn’t paying attention. He simply wasn’t capable of sitting still for that long.  

It occurred to Wylan that the only time he’d actually seen Jesper be _still_ was in the moments after they’d kissed, and that thought just about killed what little concentration he’d had for whatever was going on onscreen (from what he could tell, all the characters were related somehow, and they all wanted to kill each other. Or have sex with each other. It was confusing.)

By the time the episode ended, Wylan had spent so much more time looking at Jesper than actually watching the show that he was pretty sure he’d be able to draw him entirely from memory.

The screen went dark, the dramatic music started playing (Wylan needed to get his hands on that sheet music) and Nina Zenik sat up and said, very indignantly “What the _fuck_?”

“Unbelievable,” said Jesper, tossing his hands into the air. “ _Unbelievable._ ”

“I told you,” said Kaz.

“You hush,” said Inej, pressing herself against his side and resting her head on his shoulder. Kaz shifted in his seat so that he could put his arm around her, and for a moment the two of them looked as though they were living in a completely separate universe, far away from everyone else in the room.

“Listen,” said Jesper, pointing at Nina, “just because you think Daenerys is hot--”

“Daenerys _is_ hot and you know it, Fahey,” said Nina.

“--does _not_ mean that she deserves the Iron Throne. The Starks--”

“The Starks have no claim to the throne,” said Matthias, “but Daenerys is hardly a fit leader-- hey!” Nina had elbowed him in the side.

“Oh, hush,” she said impatiently. “You know I love the Starks, but _come on,_ none of them are the leadership types--”

“Sansa is going to be the Queen in the North,” said Inej, sounding determined, as though she would put whoever Sansa was there herself if it was the last thing she did.

Kaz shook his head. “You’re all wrong. Littlefinger is the only one of them smart enough to take the throne.”

Everyone else made sounds of outrage, and Jesper shook his head in mock disappointment. “I’m ashamed of each and every one of you. Wylan, we’re leaving. I can’t associate with these people any longer.” He grabbed Wylan’s hand and dragged him to his feet, turning away from the other dramatically and moving towards the staircase. Wylan decided to just accept whatever was happening and go with him.

“You’re going to get ice cream, aren’t you,” said Inej, sounding amused.

“I am taking a stance against your shitty opinions!” Jesper shouted over his shoulder, hurrying up the staircase.

“Bring me some!” shouted Nina, from down below.

The moment they reached the top of the stairs, Jesper broke into laughter.

“Drama queen,” said Wylan, leaning against Nina’s kitchen counter, unable to keep the smile from his face.

Jesper leaned against Nina’s refrigerator, folding his arms across his chest. “So. What did you think?”

“Of the show? Jesper, I legitimately had no idea what was going on." Wylan shook his head. "I think  _Pride and Prejudice_ actually would have made more sense."

“Not the show,” said Jesper. “Them.” He jerked his head towards the stairs. Nina’s voice was still audible; it sounded like she was still fighting with Kaz. Jesper wasn’t quite looking at him, twisting the sleeve of his sweatshirt in his fingers.

Wylan felt both startled and pleased. “Honestly, I think the bigger question is whether _they_ like _me_.” When Jesper didn’t respond, Wylan stepped forward and took his hands so he would stop fidgeting. Jesper grew abruptly still.

“They’re fantastic,” Wylan said. “I mean, Nina apparently wants to adopt me and I’m not sure Matthias knows my name, and Kaz is honestly terrifying and Inej-- well, she’s sort of terrifying too, and she kind of threatened me on our way over, but-- I like them anyways. Were you really worried that I wouldn’t?”

“Well, you know,” said Jesper, looking up at him with the sort of smile that reminded Wylan of burning matches. “They’re family. I couldn’t exactly let you stick around if you didn’t like them.” His fingers brushed the inside of Wylan’s wrists, and Wylan shivered.

“I see,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. “Does that mean you’re planning on letting me stick around?”

Jesper tugged on his hands, pulling him a little closer. “That depends. If Inej and Nina are feeling generous, we might be good, but if they’re not, you’ll have to go through three trials, one involving fire, and--”

“And here I thought you’d protect me from them,” said Wylan, shaking his head. “So disappointing.”

“So sorry,” said Jesper, releasing Wylan’s hands. “I bet I can convince you to forgive me, though.” And before Wylan could make a comeback, Jesper caught hold of Wylan’s shirt and kissed him.  

Wylan stumbled against Jesper and leaned into him, without fully realizing that doing so meant that he was kind of, sort of, semi-accidentally pressing Jesper up against the side of the refrigerator, which was not something Wylan usually did. Or _ever_ did, if he was being honest. There was something unfamiliar and elating about this, the complete lack of space between them, the way he could lean into the kiss just a little bit more and _feel_ the change in Jesper’s breathing. It was a little overwhelming. But Jesper was making a sound that sort of made Wylan think that he wouldn’t mind doing this forever, actually, and then one of Jesper’s hands brushed across Wylan’s bare skin, just under the edge of his shirt, and--

“If you’re making out right now,” Nina called up the stairs, “please stop, because I’ve waited long enough for that ice cream.”

They broke apart, but for a moment all Wylan could do was stand still and stare, because Jesper was staring right back and breathing raggedly, his typical confident composure well and truly shaken, and he, Wylan, was the cause.

“For the love of God, get a room,” said Nina, coming into the kitchen and stepping around them to open the freezer. Hastily, Wylan turned away from Jesper, but there was nothing he could do to hide his blush.

“Nina Zenik, you hypocrite,” said Jesper, who definitely had a faster recovery time than Wylan did when it came to this-- not that Wylan was surprised. “You’d stick your tongue down Matthias’s throat in plain view of everyone every single day if you didn’t know it would give him a heart attack.”

“I _do_ tend to prefer my boyfriends alive,” said Nina cheerfully. “One of my odd quirks.” She took two cartons of ice cream out of the freezer. “Now are you two going to help me with this, or do I need to lock you in a closet for a while until you’re able to rejoin those of us with self-control?”

“I’ve spent enough time in the closet, actually,” said Wylan. “I think I’d rather just have the ice cream.”

Nina and Jesper’s laughter was bright and loud, and the sound of it made Wylan feel a little bit like he was floating. Everything about this scene, everything about this day, was so ridiculously detached from Wylan’s usual life. In the midst of the laughter, it felt safe to look at Jesper again-- or, at the very least, safer.

Jesper didn’t _look_ like he’d been making out with someone against a refrigerator approximately two minutes before, but Wylan wasn’t about to forget the way Jesper’s fingers had curled in his shirt or the brush of his hand against Wylan’s skin or the way Jesper had gasped when Wylan pressed against him. Yet that wasn’t all Wylan was thinking about: he also couldn’t shake the memory of Jesper’s voice over the phone, Jesper saying “I _like_ you”,  Jesper sitting next to him in the hallway and not touching him because he didn’t want to freak him out.

“Oh, for the love of God,” said Nina. “Outside, both of you. You can come back in and have ice cream when you stop it with all-- this.” She waved a hand in their general direction.

“Okay, drama queen,” said Jesper, grabbing a bowl of ice cream. “We’ll go outside.”

“You were supposed to leave the ice cream here!” Nina called after him as Jesper headed towards the front door. Wylan decided that he was probably meant to follow and did so.

“It would melt!” Jesper called over his shoulder, opening the front door.

“I would have eaten it!” Nina yelled back, as they stepped outside and closed the door behind them. Wylan was blushing again. He abruptly felt awkward, clumsy. It was one thing to press someone against their best friend’s refrigerator and kiss them as though you actually knew things about kissing, but it was another thing entirely to act normal around that person afterwards. He couldn’t shake off the feeling that he would never stop feeling strange and awkward around Jesper, no matter what happened.

“So,” said Jesper, somehow managing to jump off of the top step and land on the cement without dropping the bowl of ice cream. Wylan, who possessed neither Jesper’s parkour abilities nor his general refusal to do anything the way it was supposed to be done, took a more gradual approach to the stairs.

“So,” he said in reply, leaning awkwardly against the giant flowerpot the Zeniks kept in front of their house. He would have to ask Nina who in her family had a passion for such exuberant decorations.

“Ice cream?” said Jesper, offering the bowl and flashing a smile.

Wylan gave the bright green ice cream a disgusted look. “You like mint ice cream?”

“You don’t?”

“Toothpaste is not a viable flavor option,” said Wylan, shaking his head in disappointment. “I can’t believe I actually have a crush on someone with such terrible taste in desserts." He realized half a second later what he'd just said, but it was already far too late. 

Jesper’s eyebrows shot up, his smile widening. “Did you just say--”

“Stop,” said Wylan, shaking his head vigorously. "I know exactly what you're going to say. You're getting predictable."

“You’re blushing--”

“Shut up.”

“Bossy.”

“Go away,” said Wylan, covering his eyes with his hand. “Go eat your terrible ice cream somewhere else and leave me in peace."

Jesper set down the bowl of ice cream and took a step forward so he could pull Wylan’s hand away from his face. “First you tell me that you have a crush on me, then you tell me to go away? The signals are very mixed, pretty boy.”

“Maybe I like you best when you go away,” said Wylan, giving Jesper a light shove as he tried to lean in. “This is my flowerpot, not yours.”

Jesper laughed, and Wylan felt it again, that warm humming-floating too-bright feeling in his chest. He was considering that _maybe,_ just maybe, he could forgive Jesper for his taste in ice cream, when a sharp buzzing sound cut through the air. 

He flinched and reached for his pocket, pulling out his vibrating cell phone. A ribbon of panic was winding its way around his throat, and trying to read the name on the screen was like trying to read Mandarin. Besides, there was only one person who was likely to be calling him-- and a call from him never meant anything good. 

He pressed the green _accept_ button with a shaky finger and held his phone against his ear. Jesper dropped his hand but didn't step back, his eyes fixed on Wylan's face.

“Father?” Wylan's voice sounded far away from his own ears. He wished he hadn't answered. He wished he had left his cell phone in the car. He wished he was back inside Nina's house, leaning against her kitchen counter, laughing. 

A pause.

“Um,” said the voice. “No?”

Wylan blinked. The voice was definitely familiar, but it was also definitely _not_ his father. 

“Hello?” said the voice on the other end. “Wylan? Are you there?”

“Um,” said Wylan, frowning. “Yes?”

“Good,” said the other voice, and Wylan realized that whoever was seaking, his voice sounded strained-- maybe nervous, maybe scared.

“I’m sorry,” Wylan said, closing his eyes. He could feel Jesper watching him, and he wished he was brave enough to reach out and take Jesper's hand, brave enough to tangle their fingers together the way Kaz and Inej had earlier. He wished he was brave enough to believe that someone would ever want that kind of contact with him, the _it's-okay-I'm-here_ kind of contact, the kind that went deeper than laughter and teasing and want. 

He shoved those thoughts aside and focused. “I don’t-- I don’t know who this is.”

Another long pause, and then the voice spoke again, the words making Wylan’s stomach twist unpleasantly.

“It’s Kuwei,” he said, “and I need your help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: *disappears for months on end* *returns with a new, ridiculously self-indulgent chapter* *ends it on a cliffhanger*
> 
> y'all: we don't???? want these?????
> 
> really though I hope you enjoyed this! tbh there's a lot of internal AHHHHHHH going on about posting this chapter but I've been working on it for Too Long so I'm just going to post & let it go. hit me up on tumblr @iwillhaveyouwithoutarmor if you have any thoughts/rants/concerns. 
> 
> ALSO! I have come to the realization that I could really use a grammar beta for this fic just because I get so exhausted by proofreading my own stuff, so if you have an interest in doing that, please let me know! 
> 
> p.s. there is literally no logical explanation for Jesper having seen P&P four times but???????? do we really care 
> 
> p.s. #2 COMMENTS ARE BETTER THAN ICE CREAM BUT NOT MINT ICE CREAM BC MINT ICE CREAM CAN GET THE HECK OUT OF HERE


	5. (hide our emotions under the surface & try to pretend)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE BINCH I BET YOU THOUGHT YOU'D SEEN THE LAST OF ME

For the first time in his long career of romantic endeavors, Jesper Fahey couldn’t quite tell how his date was going.

On the one hand: Game of Thrones, positive reception of date by The Friends, surprising but wholly welcome makeout session in friend’s kitchen, ice cream. All positive! On the other hand: mysterious phone call, swift downward turn in general mood, and now a weird drive to a dimly lit gas station in the middle of nowhere. Not so positive.

Just when Jesper thought he was getting a solid grasp on Wylan van Eck, Wylan turned around and surprised him. It was a very novel and off-putting experience for someone who was used to being the startling one in every interaction he had (conversations with Kaz excluded.) But Wylan was unpredictable.   

Jesper kind of loved it. 

Most people would probably be less enthusiastic about a date’s surprising qualities upon finding themselves heading to the aforementioned gas station at eight o’clock at night, but Jesper was never one to back away from an adventure. Still, he did wish Wylan was a little less quiet. Or, at the very least, that the quiet was a little less ominous.

“Hey,” he said. “Mind if I turn on the radio?”

Wylan glanced over at him from the driver’s seat. “Go for it.”

Jesper leaned forward a little and twisted the dial, spinning through stations, taking in snatches of car dealership commercials, _New Rules,_ and something about the healing light of Jesus, before settling on a station.  

“Dua Lipa’s not your thing?” said Wylan, raising his eyebrows a little, feigning shock.

“Oh, Dua is my girl,” said Jesper. “You should see the dance parties Nina and I have. But I _am_ capable of being sensitive to the present mood. Occasionally.”

 “Very occasionally.” 

“Hey,” said Jesper, but the sight of Wylan’s smile stole any vigor from his protest, and the word came out sounding ridiculously soft. God, who was he _becoming?_

 “You know,” he added, “this is sort of becoming our _thing_.” He nodded at the windshield.

“Me dragging you into my disastrous life?”

“You driving me places.”

Wylan glanced over at him again. “You really can drive, if you--” 

“Nah,” said Jesper, shaking his head. “You’re a better driver than I am. You know, what with that ability to keep your hands on the wheel and your eyes on the road and all that.” Jesper was too jittery for driving. It bored him, and he always wound up accidentally speeding.

“Not that you make it easy,” said Wylan, and there it was again, that jolt of surprise like a little burst of electricity in his chest, a happy humming that made him wish Wylan was a slightly less responsible driver.

As if in answer, Wylan released the steering wheel with his right hand and reached over to Jesper, and Jesper took it between his own.

“Reckless driving,” he said, skimming his thumb across Wylan’s knuckles. 

“Not that reckless,” said Wylan. “I’m left-handed.”

“You are? Wow. The more you know.” He liked Wylan’s hands, with his slender, careful fingers. He liked that Wylan’s steady fixation on the road in front of him wasn’t quite enough to disguise his smile. He liked that ever since he had begun talking, the tension had been easing out of Wylan’s shoulders until he looked nearly calm.

“So,” he said, deciding to chance it. “Who is it we’re going to see, exactly?”

Wylan shifted, and for a moment Jesper thought he would pull his hand away, but then he went still again.

“It’s… hard to explain."

Jesper looked straight ahead, watching the road curve through the darkness. “Seriously, if this is about an ex, or something--”

“I don’t have an ex,” said Wylan. “It’s-- his name is Kuwei. His father works for mine.” 

“Okay,” said Jesper. 

“We’re friends.” Wylan inhaled. “I mean, I think we’re friends. It’s-- I don’t know. Kuwei’s sort of… impossible. But we’re always being dragged along to events and stuff together, so we kind of… bonded. Not that Kuwei would admit that, because he hates me, but you know.”

Jesper looked at him again. “Gonna be honest here, I’m sort of confused.”

Wylan sighed. “Yeah. Me too.”

“So why’d he call you?” 

“That remains unclear. I didn’t even know he had my phone number.”

“Oh, you know,” said Jesper. “Just your typical friendship stuff.”

“Not everyone has friends like yours,” said Wylan, pulling his hand free from Jesper’s and gripping the steering wheel a little tighter.

Jesper stayed quiet for a moment, then opened his mouth to say something, though he wasn’t entirely certain what. People did comment, sometimes, on the closeness between his group of friends, but most of those comments were easy to shrug off. None of his friends had much of a family, so they’d become each other’s. But Wylan didn’t have much of a family either.

“I’m sorry,” said Wylan, looking over at him, and he did look sorry-- sorry and faintly embarrassed. “That was out of line. This whole thing is kind of stressing me out.”

“It’s okay,” said Jesper. He leaned forward and turned the radio volume up a little, then pulled his legs up to his chest and drummed his fingers against his knees, trying to focus solely on the music. 

 _When I speak, will you listen?_  

“It’s not,” said Wylan. “If I want to take my internalized anger out on someone, I should just punch my father in the throat.”

“Wow,” said Jesper. “You should be a therapist.”

“I know, right? So healthy and well-adjusted. And on that note, welcome to this dimly-lit gas station, guest starring my sort-of best friend who might actually hate me.” 

“I’ve never met someone so well-adjusted,” said Jesper, unbuckling his seat belt as Wylan pulled into the parking lot. “Actually, you know, that was meant to be sarcastic, but come to think of it, my best friends are a sociopath, someone who may actually believe she’s Beyonce, a gymnast with a weird knife obsession, and a man who would probably be a wolf furry if he knew what that was. So you’re definitely top three.”

“Did you just say _furry?_ ”

“Do you know what that is?”

“How sheltered do you think I am?”

“Everyone should be sheltered from furries,” said Jesper, shaking his head as though he was thinking of something dark and terrible, and feeling rewarded when Wylan laughed. “Come on.” He opened the car door and slid out, sensing that if he didn’t make the first move, Wylan would stay frozen in his seat forever. 

As they approached the gas station, the figure Jesper assumed must be Kuwei came into view: skinny and on the shorter side, dark hair swooping angstily across his face, eyes fixed on iPhone he was tapping at impatiently. He had a vaguely _executive_ look to him; he looked like the sort of guy who would eventually move to California or New York and intern at companies full of rich people before launching his own app start-up or something. But he was also wearing very tight skinny jeans embroidered with roses, so Jesper wasn’t quite sure what to make of him.

“Hey,” said Wylan, as they drew closer, and Kuwei appeared to finish whatever very important text conversation he was having before finally looking up, though he did not _stand_ up.

Kuwei nodded his head at Wylan-- an upward jerk of the head, more like _‘sup_ than like _hey_. Then he looked at Jesper.

“Who are you?” he said.

Jesper wondered if disliking him instantly would be unreasonable. Maybe he should wait three to five business days before deciding Kuwei was Not For Him. But he remembered Wylan’s tense _Not everyone has friends like you_ and decided he would put in the effort to be charming and friendly instead of charming and utterly dismissive. The two attitudes were both incredibly similar and startlingly distinct.

“I’m Jesper,” he said, flashing Kuwei the patented Jesper Fahey Thousand-Watt Smile. This smile was often genuine, but at the moment it was feeling more than a little plastered-on. “You must be the enigmatic Kuwei.”

“Wylan’s never said anything about you before,” said Kuwei, narrowing his eyes. 

“Kuwei,” said Wylan, sounding exasperated. Strangely, it was this tone of voice that made Jesper believe that the two are actually friends. He couldn’t count the number of times he’s heard Nina or Inej say his name like that, like _Jesper, really, we get that you’re a vibrating ball of energy, but they_ will _kick you out of the ACT if you start singing in the middle of the science portion._

Wylan touched Jesper’s upper arm for just a moment as he brushed past him, taking a seat next to Kuwei on the curb. “Seriously, what’s going on?”

Kuwei sighed, and Jesper, sensing a downward turn in the conversation, sat down on the curb on Wylan’s left, a foot or so down so that the two of them could maintain an illusion of privacy, even though he was definitely (obviously) eavesdropping.

He was expecting the conversation to go the way a bad-news conversation would go with Inej, a sort of gradual, work-our-way up to it approach. But instead, Kuwei took the Kaz route, delivering the news flatly.

“Your father just fired mine,” he said. “We’re moving.”

“ _Shit_ ,” said Wylan. “Kuwei--” 

“Shut up,” said Kuwei. “We’re not doing feelings right now. This is important.”

Wylan made an irritated snorting sound, but said nothing. Jesper drummed his fingers against his knees and made a deliberate effort to stay quiet. Not interjecting with a comment was hard for him, but he figured he owed it to Wylan to at least make an effort. 

“My dad had been working on something for him for a while,” said Kuwei, “but he realized it was too dangerous to market. Your father got impatient waiting for him to fix it. He confiscated my dad’s work and then fired him.”

“Fucker,” said Wylan, with feeling. Jesper withheld a laugh-- this definitely wasn’t the right time for it. 

“Pretty much,” said Kuwei, sounding tired.

“Surely your dad can sue him, or _something_ \--” 

“You’ve met my dad. He’s not going to sue anyone.”

“So what’s going to happen?”

Kuwei shrugged. “We’re going to move. My dad’s got a new job offer already. We’ll be fine.”

“But your classes--”

 “It’s fine,” said Kuwei. “We’ll wait until the school year’s over. Senior year at a new school won’t kill me.” 

“MIT, here you come,” said Wylan. He sounded like we was trying his best to be happy for his friend, but it had to hurt that Kuwei was leaving. 

“Maybe I’ll see you there,” said Kuwei.

Wylan laughed, but it sounded forced. “Not with my grades.”

“Actually,” said Kuwei. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“What? My 2.5 GPA?”

Jesper winced. Wylan might be exaggerating a little, but even his GPA was higher than that, and academic pursuits had never been Jesper’s strong suit.

“No. You in general.” Jesper couldn’t help it: he glanced over in their direction. Kuwei was looking at the ground, one of his feet tapping uncomfortably. He wondered if Kuwei’s feelings towards Wylan were the same as Wylan’s feelings towards Kuwei. 

“What’s up?” said Wylan.

“Your dad’s getting remarried and I think the chick might be pregnant,” said Kuwei, the words coming out all in a rush. He looked up at Wylan as he said it, like he was bracing himself for impact. 

Wylan froze. “ _What_?”

 “Her name’s Alys and she’s like twenty and they’ve been together for like six months,” said Kuwei. “And--”

“ _Slow down_ ,” said Wylan. “My father? Mine? Jan van Eck?”

Kuwei nodded. To his credit, he looked miserable. “Sorry.” 

“Jesus,” said Wylan. “What the _fuck_.”

“Yeah, pretty much.” 

“Did you say _pregnant_?” 

“Unfortunately.”

 “My father’s going to disown me,” said Wylan, raking his fingers through his hair. “Kuwei, he’s literally going to disown me and start over like he’s Henry the fucking Eighth or something.”

Kuwei took a deep breath. “I don’t think he’s going to do that. But I do think he’s going to send you away to a different school.” 

This kid really did not hold back when it came to being the bearer of bad news. Jesper was about to take a stab at diffusing the tension when the full force of what Kuwei had just said hit him. Send him away? A different school?

Wylan pressed his palms against his eyes, digging his elbows into his knees, and Kuwei shifted uncomfortably, pressing one hand against Wylan’s shoulder as he turned his eyes to Jesper. He looked like he was evaluating Jesper’s face for his reaction, and after a moment, he raised an eyebrow and jerked his head at Wylan. It seemed like an invitation, and even though Jesper wasn’t sure what he could do to help, he appreciated it enough that he got to his feet and moved closer to them. 

When he crouched down in front of Wylan, Jesper was hit, abruptly, with a memory of the very first time he’d seen Wylan, all the way back in eighth grade. Wylan had been dressed too nicely for the first day of school, standing with his back pressed against a locker, watching the sea of kids move through the hallway. Jesper had been perched on a stair rail next to Inej, both of them surveying the crowd and ignoring the teacher shouting at them to get down.

They were both looking for Kaz, not that either of them had verbalized this, and not that they would find him until Kaz wanted to be found. But this was who Inej and Jesper had been: two kids with zero regard for rules or consequences, orbiting around someone who barely cared for either of them. 

Almost all of that had changed. Jesper still didn’t care much for rules or consequences, but he also didn’t live his whole life with the aims of causing chaos and impressing Kaz Brekker. Despite his best intentions, Jesper had grown up a little in the past few years.

Looking at Wylan now, Jesper saw that the past few years hadn’t changed Wylan quite as much as they had changed him. When he’d first started to pay attention to Wylan in detention, he’d thought that this cute-as-fuck, angry-as-fuck boy who could hardly stop looking at him was miles apart from that scared kid in the hallway.

 But he’d been wrong. Wylan wasn’t a kid anymore, but he was still frightened, still weighed down by his father and his own uncertainty. It didn’t show so blatantly these days, but it was still there.

“Hey,” he said. This-- having to figure out the right way to comfort someone-- was also an unusual first-date occurrence. Given that Jesper was bad at providing comfort even for people he knew well, he wasn’t sure he was up for the task.

“This is so fucked up,” said Wylan, his voice cracking a little over the word _fucked_. “I'm really not sure what's going on.”

“I know,” said Jesper, and he was trying to figure out whether or not Wylan would be okay with being touched when Wylan leaned forward and pressed his forehead into the curve of Jesper’s shoulder. The sudden intimacy of the gesture made Jesper feel like he’d been hit in the stomach, and he pressed a hand against the back of Wylan’s neck, trying to reciprocate in a way that felt even half as tender. It wasn’t until he felt a drop of water run down his collarbone that Jesper realized Wylan was crying.

 “Hey,” he said again, shifting his knees onto the pavement so that he could hold Wylan more steadily, trying to grip him in a way that was both comforting and determined, wishing he was better at this.“It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”

He felt the miniscule shake of Wylan’s head against his shoulder and held on even tighter, trying to imbue his voice with his usual confidence even though he’d never felt less like himself. “Don’t give me that. It is.”

Wylan took a deep, shuddering breath. Jesper stayed still. He could feel Wylan’s body trembling close to his. He could sense Kuwei’s presence, like a silent watchguard, somewhere on the sidewalk in front of them. He could see, through half-shut eyes, the blurred glow of the gas station beyond that. He was desperate for the sound of Wylan’s voice, for a sign that his rudimentary reassurance had somehow done the trick and pulled Wylan back from the brink of despair. But all he heard was the distant revving of an engine on the highway, the shifting fabric of Kuwei’s shirt, and the thrumming of his own heartbeat, like a baseline to the choir in his head singing the word _useless_ over and over again. Wylan said nothing at all.

 

xXx

 

Three weeks later, Jesper drove Wylan to the airport in the chilly gray light of 3 a.m.

It was strange to have their roles reversed, but Jesper thought he understood now why Wylan liked driving so much. It kept him tethered, gave him something to hold on to. Red-eyed and silent in the passenger seat, Wylan currently didn’t seem tethered to anything at all. His gaze wandered across the highway in front of him with an uncomfortable vacancy, and the coffee Inej and Kaz had made and sent with them kept sloshing over the rim of his thermos, untouched. Jesper had finished his own about ten minutes into the drive, and now he was both jittery and sad, which was possibly his least favorite combination of moods.

The itch to turn on the radio was almost unbearable, but Jesper knew it was risky. Any song he heard now would be permanently associated with this memory. He’d already wrecked _Told You So_ by Paramore for himself forever by listening to it after fighting with Wylan a week and a half earlier.

The memory of that night still made his stomach curdle with anger and regret. In the days that followed the night at the gas station, Jesper had spent basically every waking moment trying to help Wylan work up the courage to stand up to his father, and Nina and Inej had done the same. On one memorable occasion, the two of them had joined Jesper, Wylan, and Kuwei for maybe the most uncomfortable lunch Jesper had ever sat through. Inej had promised that all of them-- including Kaz and Matthias-- would help protect Wylan from the situation should his father become dangerous. Kuwei had argued, a little tactlessly, that Wylan’s father probably wouldn’t care what Wylan did so long as he didn’t have to associate with his son any longer. Nina had offered Wylan a place to say for a while should he choose to pursue an emancipated minor status, the way Kaz had. And Jesper had squeezed Wylan’s hand, had spoken in the most reassuring voice he could, had sat next to him in the car screaming along to Bleachers and making Wylan laugh and listening to him rant, doing everything he could, with every fiber of his being, to convince Wylan that he could stay, that yes, his father was a monster, but one that would be caged.

But that night, a week and a half earlier, Wylan had told Jesper that he was going to go. His credits had been transferred, his tuition deposit had been made, his flight had been booked. Wylan was giving in to his father. Wylan was leaving. 

Every moment since then had gone by so fast, Jesper could hardly keep track of any of it. There had been another Game of Thrones watching session, a bottle of peach schnapps everyone had agreed was disgusting but continued to drink anyways, a playlist Wylan had actually burned onto a CD for him like they were living in an early 2000s romcom, and a constant, underlying sense of panic and denial. All of those moments had been a downward spiral spinning towards this one, and now they were here, minutes away from goodbye.

Jesper exited the highway and abruptly found himself surrounded by airport traffic, pulling up into the lane for departure drop-offs. He was surprised that he managed to squeeze into the spot without crunching any other vehicles, with his hands shaking the way they were.

“Well,” he said, and then found that he couldn’t say anything else. He wanted to be back on the highway, wanted to rewind to that moment, half an hour before, when he’d wondered if he ought to say something and hadn’t. It seemed idiotic, now, to have allowed that silence to sit heavily between them, to have wasted this time thinking about all of the things he desperately wanted to change and couldn’t. Now this drive was just another one of those things. 

He’d spent so much time trying to change Wylan’s mind, and so much time trying to stop himself from being angry with Wylan for not doing so, that he hadn’t really considered how it would feel to watch Wylan get out of the car and walk away from him. (Of course he hadn’t considered how it would feel. Jesper tried to limit the amount of time he spent _feeling things_ and _thinking about feeling things_ as much as he possibly could.)  

But now they were here, and Jesper was feeling a lot. The sadness was to be expected, and the regret was uncomfortable but not completely surprising. But underlying all of that was something bigger and messier, something Jesper didn’t want to examine too closely, because it was stupid and self-centered and ridiculous. This whole thing was ridiculous, really. He hadn’t known Wylan for that long. He should be upset that the cute boy he had a crush on was moving halfway across the country, but he shouldn’t feel so… abandoned. The thought of Wylan walking away and getting on a plane shouldn’t make him feel so _lonely._  

“Hey,” said Wylan, and Jesper realized he was still staring out the windshield, hands clenched around the steering wheel.

“Sorry.” He released the wheel and tried to relax into his seat, forcing himself to look over at Wylan, which wasn’t something he usually had to force himself to do. Usually it just happened.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m not the one being forced to flee the country,” said Jesper. It was stupid, given that they lived in the era of digital photography, but he found himself trying to memorize the details of Wylan’s face, the weird little things you never thought about until you tried to remember a face and found that you couldn’t fill in certain basic details: the exact shade of someone’s eyes (easy, in Wylan’s case, given that they were the exact shade of blue a toddler would pick from a crayon box for the sky), the shape of their eyebrows, the press of their lips when they were neither smiling nor frowning, which was the way Wylan was looking at him now.

“The state,” Wylan corrected.

“Might as well be the country,” said Jesper. “I mean, Pennsylvania? Who’s even been to Pennsylvania? That’s such a non-state. You’re probably going to cease to exist the moment your plane touches down in Pennsylvania.”

“Montana is a non-state,” said Wylan, shaking his head. “Or, like, Wisconsin. Delaware. The Revolutionary War happened in Pennsylvania. Presidents do things there sometimes.”

“What a ringing endorsement. _Presidents do things there sometimes._ You should work for the Pennsylvania Tourism Department. I bet they’d make you vice president within like, two months, and then you’d spend all your time trying to hide the fact that you don’t know jack shit about Pennsylvania. You know, one of those movies with all the wacky hijinks--”

Wylan reached over and pressed his hand against Jesper’s cheek, which silenced him instantly, whether it had been intended to or not.

“I’m sorry that I’m leaving,” said Wylan. His fingers were cold.

There were a lot of ways to respond to this. What Jesper should say was _It’s not your fault_ . What he wanted to say was _Then don’t leave._ He hated himself for thinking it. Wylan’s father was emotionally abusive-- of course Wylan wanted to get away from him, even if that escape had been orchestrated by his father and was probably intended to isolate him farther.

 Wylan’s hand slid down and cupped the back of Jesper’s neck, and suddenly Jesper was thinking of something else entirely. In the weeks since their kiss in Nina’s kitchen, Wylan had fallen asleep with his head on Jesper’s shoulder. They’d held hands in public. Wylan had stolen Jesper’s sweatshirts and refused to give them back and made fun of the way Jesper looked at him when he was wearing them. But during all that, despite the dozens of times they’d clearly both been thinking about, neither one of them had made a move to kiss the other. It had seemed like too much to put on Wylan-- manipulative, even-- when he was trying to decide whether or not he should stay, when Jesper wanted him to so badly.

But now… did it matter? Wylan was leaving. Wylan was leaving for a long time. Could it hurt? Inej would probably tell him that yes, it could hurt. Nina would probably tell Jesper to just kiss him. Jesper needed a tiebreaker. Kaz and Matthias would never deign to offer an opinion on this, even in Jesper’s imagination. His mind went, instead, bizarrely, to Kuwei, who he’d only met once. Kuwei, who had been a good friend to Wylan and delivered his bad news stoically and not made it about his own feelings. Jesper still wasn’t sure what, exactly, their relationship entailed, but he was fairly certain that Kuwei wouldn’t kiss Wylan at this moment even if he wanted to.

“Come on,” Jesper said. “Let’s get your bags.”

They were probably overstepping the amount of time they were allowed to linger at the curb, but Jesper couldn’t bring himself to care. He dragged Wylan’s suitcase and duffel bag out of the trunk of the car, and then he stood there and stared at Wylan, and Wylan stared back at him. It didn’t feel real. It didn’t feel like this could possibly be their goodbye.

“Okay,” he said. “You have to go. Right?” Jesper ran his hands over his face. He wanted to cover both eyes with his palms so he didn’t have to watch this happen. “You’ve got to get through security and all that. Text me when you land?”

Wylan nodded, his face unreadable, and Jesper stepped forward and put his arms around him. He hugged him for as long as he could reasonably allow himself to. Then he stepped back.

“Text me.”

“I will.” 

“Be safe.”

“Stay out of trouble.”

“Probably won’t.” 

“Probably not.” Wylan nodded. He shouldered his duffel bag.

Jesper's throat was dry. "Keep me posted on Pennsylvania. Update me as soon as you see a president doing a thing."

“I’ll call you.”

Jesper nodded. Wylan nodded back. Then, lightning fast, Wylan stepped into his space and looped his arms around Jesper's neck, his duffel bag knocking awkwardly against Jesper's leg. He felt so tiny. Jesper could lift him off the ground if he wanted to, easily. 

"Don't worry too much," Wylan whispered. "Okay?" His voice was steadier than Jesper would have expected. Maybe Jesper was just being an idiot about this, making a big deal over their goodbye. He squeezed Wylan as tight as he could. He was tiny, but not fragile. 

"Okay," he said. 

Wylan kissed Jesper's cheek, butterfly-light, then released him and took two steps back, his bag throwing him off-balance a little. Jesper opened the car door and slid back in the driver’s seat. He waved. He watched through the window as Wylan waved back before turning and dragging his suitcase with him through the sliding glass doors. He buckled his seatbelt and sat there for a moment, wondering what the fuck he was supposed to do now. Then he started the car and drove away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY everyone how have you been for the past uhhhhhhhh... year and a half? I've been pretty good. lots happening. I know you all thought this fic was dead, but it's not over 'till it's over. (honey I rose up from the dead I do it all the time etc etc etc.) I AM sorry for the hiatus, but it took me a longggggg time to figure out where I was going with this. turns out where I was going was Making Everyone Sad. sorry, squad. but I PROMISE there are more good times coming. these next couple chapters (not that you're going to see them for a while knowing me lol) are going to give yall some Quality Jesper Content, character growth, pining, ALL KINDS OF GOOD STUFF. 
> 
> as always, hit me up on tumblr! @iwillhaveyouwithoutarmor ! ask me for bonus content ! argue with me about Jesper's Hogwarts house ! yell at me to write! 
> 
> ALSO, if you are enjoying this fic, go ahead and leave a comment! It may not seem like it, but they really do motivate me to keep writing this fic (albeit very slowllllyyyyyy.) this chapter was hard to write and a lil messy but I hope you all like it even if it probably wasn't what you were hoping for. also if you're dying for happy wesper content to mend your soul after reading I sometimes do good pure drabbles on Tumblr when ppl send prompts so feel free to do that if you want! and if you have any good six of crows fic recs, drop them in the comments for me & other ppl to check out! share the love!!! 
> 
> okay. rambling time over. see you in another year HAHAHAHAHAHAHA 
> 
> p.s. shoutout to SHELBY my beloved internet friend of around 3 years and OG six of crows friend, because I recently spent a week AT HER HOUSE and I would die for her and she periodically reminds me to work on this fic. also!!!! shoutout to Miranda!!!! who recently experienced SoC for the first time and is a good bean! ily both.


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